The Unsinkable Rose Dawson
by Abby Normal
Summary: Rose's accounts of her life and the lives of her friends and family, before and the ten years or so after Titanic. Scenes in WWI, the Mexican Revolution, the beginning of prohibition in New York, among others.
1. A Young Rose

Disclaimer: Based on some characters and situations created by James Cameron. Almost all of the other characters and dialogues belong to me, sometimes I quote or copy other films/shows/whatever to reference them--not to steal them. And I've also put in cameo appearances from characters from other movies and real people as well. (See if you can catch them all[cameos and references]) And some of the events in this story that the characters will find themselves in are actual historical events, but *most* of the characters are fictional, it's like the way they did it that boat movie a few years ago... Also, chapter two takes place mostly after the movie and fills in some spots at the end. Although that's the turning point of Rose's life if you're reading this you've probably seen the movie. If you're not living in a hole you've probably seen the movie. I don't feel it necessary to retell the entire film although she'll go on about it for a while. But now to the story. Oh joy of joys.  
  
STRIKE UP THE BAND! BRING OUT THE DANCERS! LET'S START THE CELEBRATION! THE STORY'S STARTING!!!!!!!!!! WHOPEE!!!!  
  
  
  
I recall it was a colder night than usual even for New England. As I was not originally from the area I sometimes forgot. Although by then I had become a rather prominent member of the community. I was as good as native in my home of Ogunquit, Maine.  
  
In spite of the offensive temperature that night seemed like a winter wonderland with the freshly fallen snow and the Christmas decorations in the street. It was December of 1943.  
  
I was in good spirits that night despite my overwhelming sleepiness. Each step from the car back to Old Town House became harder. It had been the longest time since I felt so tired, but I welcomed the feeling for it promised an absolute emotion of ecstasy when I slipped between the covers that night because that was positively all I wanted to do right then.  
  
As my hand reached for the door I was jolted wide-awake by a strong, and bitter cold wind. Just what I needed. My vision went blurry for several seconds. When I regained it I entered the building to find my two children and my neighbor's son cleaning up after our theater production of "Peter Pan." I ran the local children's theater there from 1930 to 1968.  
  
My daughter, Sarah, met me at the door. She is the eldest and has always carried herself as such, but without the arrogance I sometimes caught myself presenting in my youth.  
  
Her lovely golden hair had come loose from its bun and she began to show circles under her eyes, but she still managed, quite easily, to crack a smile.  
  
"Hello Mom. Watch out for Charlie tonight. He must be ready to drop. He's getting overly punchy."  
  
"I think I can handle him."  
  
My only son, my youngest child was currently involving himself in a possibly life threatening situation. At least it did appear dangerous to me. Any mother will vouch for me on this one. Charlie was currently hanging upside down above the stage being secured by a rope used to help our little actors "fly." Although I must admit this stunt was amusing at the same time. But then it occurred to me that by this time in his life he had been rushed to the hospital a record seven times by things he did on his own account. We knew all the doctors and nurses on a first name basis.  
  
"Charlie Calvert get down from there!" I called to him, "You'll break something."  
  
"I assure you I am a trained professional." He always said something like that.  
  
"Come on time to go home."  
  
"Mother, this is not a time to be casual. There's a war on."  
  
"Very funny." I said. The mention of the war made me slightly uncomfortable because my nephew Nick had just been drafted and I hadn't told them yet. Under normal circumstances I would have not kept secrets from them. They were certainly old enough to handle it, but it was at Nick's request that my husband and I not tell his cousins about it until after the holidays. He was not that much older than them. Nick was 22, Sarah was nearly 20, Charlie was 18, and our sleeping neighbor boy in the corner was 19.  
  
I fear I have neglected our unconscious friend for a moment. My husband and I had been good friends with his parents. And Jack, which was his name, had been close with Nick also. The war had been hard on his family also. Jack Yamamoto, half Japanese and half white. I think that's as far an explanation as anyone would need.  
  
But young Jack was probably the sweetest boy I'd ever known. Shy at times; rather audacious at others, very bright, with a smile to kill for, and though generally honest and forthcoming, he could be brilliantly devious if he wanted to. But at that moment he was someplace far off, but not for long.  
  
By this time Charlie had unhooked himself from the rope and climbed down from the stage. Charlie was a clever boy with a good heart, but impulsive and utterly tactless.  
  
"Jack, old boy, wake up!" He gave him a merry slap on the back.  
  
"Sweet Jesus! Don't do that damn it!" Those were the first words I'd heard out of him all evening. "Oh hi Rose."  
  
"Charles," I called to him being somewhat patronizing.  
  
"I couldn't resist."  
  
"Not cute. Let's pack it in and go. I'm tired." I signaled for them to go out to the car. Jack and Charlie skipped out pushing each other as they ran outside. Sarah stayed for a moment and approached me as carefully as if I were a stranger on the street.  
  
"I found this before.in the prop trunk." She handed me an old piece of paper with a fancy fountain pen clipped to it. First I examined the pen. It was dark, scarlet red with gold lettering. The cap was initialed 'RDB' and the body read 'Love, Papa Christmas 1904.' A flood of memories came back. Voices, faces, smells, everything. I hadn't even opened up the note, but I knew what it was. I couldn't open it in front of her.  
  
"Do you know what it is?"  
  
"Let me take a look at it.I'll be round in a few minutes."  
  
"Alright then." Sarah was an unusually perceptive girl, but it wouldn't have taken much for anyone to realize something was amiss. She was hesitant.  
  
"It's alright Peaches, I'm just going to take a look at it." With that she took her leave, but still dissatisfied.  
  
The paper was yellowed, but still intact and readable. It was like a ghost just standing there in front of me and staring me right in the face. It had been twenty years since I'd seen it last and nearly forty years since I'd laid my pen to it.  
  
"Beat me  
  
Chain me  
  
Restrain me  
  
Silence me  
  
Force me  
  
But you will never break my spirit  
  
You will never change my mind."  
  
It was as if I had gone back again. There was so much anger. I was only ten years old. So grown up, yet so ignorant. Maybe it was not so much early maturity that affected me so. I was more.trained. Trained to perfection. My parents were so proud.  
  
Of course I always found some means of temporary escape; writing angry little notes for myself such the aforementioned one, slipping in the occasional sly comment at mealtimes (preferably when my parents had guests over), and getting myself lost in my family's gardens.  
  
I also started smoking when I fifteen in a desperate attempt to prove to my parents that they couldn't control everything in my life. Maybe it was a teenage thing, but I had been fighting them since I was child. My father objected to this at first, naturally. Although no one knew the health risks involved in smoking back then. He himself smoked a cigar every night after dinner and I was quick to point that out to him.  
  
My mother thought this habit an "abomination of ladylike grace." I rolled my eyes at it at the time, but now I see her words a bit differently. I see them as a very good quote and am glad at the opportunity to use it. Although cigarette smoking was not considered a proper thing for a young lady to do I think my mother's real objection was the smell.  
  
I should, however, go back to the time when I wrote that poem. It was after one of my many "dinner incidents" as they were called. They continued after this particular one, but this, this was the big one. It was like the Great Dinner Disaster of 1905.  
  
I should start by saying my father had a tremendous library. One day when there was nothing to do and no one to call on I found myself in the library and spent a few hours in there by myself. I pulled Gray's Anatomy off the shelf and perused it. I took the liberty of educating myself in the ways of life via the book. It was quite informative. They didn't find out about it until one night at dinner.  
  
My parents had a dinner party that night with some old friends most of which whose names are inconsequential to me now. The conversation was the same mindless drivel I had tolerated for years and I had expected for the rest of my life. Was this really cultured society? This what people talked about?  
  
After dinner my mother and the women stayed in the dining room and chatted while my father went into study with the men. I went upstairs to get ready for bed.  
  
My cousin Victoria had been visiting us. I had been very ill over Christmas and my mother and father sent for her company. She was my age. I liked her very much then, but when we got older I regarded her as "one of them."  
  
After Victoria had gone to bed I crept downstairs to say good night to my father. They were all smoking and going on about politics. They made themselves sound so God damn important while creating what looked like fog around them. As if that cloud of smoke protected them and kept any unwanted persons out.  
  
"Goodnight Papa!"  
  
"Rosie my girl! How can you breathe in here silly goose?" He turned to his friends. "Excuse me a minute gentlemen." The four other men in the flashed me a couple fake smiles and continued with their conversation.  
  
"I came to say goodnight."  
  
"Well, then goodnight then dearest." I heard one man, a Mr. Barnes, mention something about the suffragettes.  
  
"These crazy women don't know their place anymore. New-fangled notions about voting and such. Nonsense. Why change now? Things have worked out fine with the way they are."  
  
A younger man spoke up. "Well, I for one don't really see the point in this voting idea, but change does push society forward. It's new century. They've been working at it for a while now, years and years. Maybe it will change. Maybe it won't. It won't upset everything. Besides such changes are slow."  
  
"Still, they want all sorts of rights.and more education, jobs and so on. It's not like I don't wish women to be around, but there are certain places for some things and some people and other places for other places and other things. Women aren't meant for the same things as men are. They're not capable of the same things." Mr. Barnes continued.  
  
This grabbed my attention and I took the opportunity to apply my new knowledge as I was always taught to do, but I knew full well what kind of territory I was venturing into. I knew I was going to get myself in a hell of a lot of trouble.  
  
"I don't see how, Mr. Barnes, that is scientifically logical," I began, "women are meant for some things and men others in the social world. I don't understand how reproductive organs can dictate one's intelligence or capability, as you said. There is no evidence that proves that that has any effect the brain or how well it works. From a scientific point of view, I cannot find anything making one sex superior to the other." Everyone was utterly speechless. I continued. "But if you do want to talk about physical superiority you can say that women live with painful menstrual cramps once every single month for most of their lives and most bare children which am told is probably the most painful experience a person could ever feel." Like a drug, I knew it was killing me, but I couldn't stop. I took the final plunge. Now it was suicide. My father made sort of choking noise. These all seemed like simple facts to me at the time so I wasn't embarrassed by them. Although I did know I was not supposed to be talking about it. I also knew that I, a girl of ten was patronizing full grown men three, four, even five times my age. "Yet they still seem to be able to continue with their lives as you do you. But then again I've never experienced these things either so maybe I'm in the same boat with all of you for now. Don't pretend to know where women should be and what women should and should not be. These 'crazy women' are full grown adults and mentally competent they can handle themselves I think. We never remind you of your place. If you are not a woman you are not qualified to judge for one. The time of Queen Victoria is over I suggest you accept that." More silence. One of them coughed. "Goodnight Papa." I left them with that. I felt dizzy and elated. I felt the unreasonable ecstasy of the convicted man about to meet his fate, reeling at his last moments. I went upstairs believing that I was right to the end and that Mr. Barnes and the others were utter fools.  
  
It was that night and the day that followed I had lost all respect for my father. I tiptoed upstairs to the empty guest room, which was right above the smoking room where the men were. I knew they would be shocked and offended, but I half-expected at least one of them to be changed and transformed by my speech; most children would. But all I heard was my father. He wasn't even speaking in full sentences. He made apology after apology pretending not to understand where any of this came from. He was an absolute groveling idiot. Utterly embarrassed and embarrassing.  
  
"She's been very ill. Very ill.it has had a drastic effect on her temper. Her behavior has been.has been erratic." He seemed to regain himself. He became his old confident self again.by belittling me. "She can be opinionated at times. She's intelligent, but extremely stubborn and rebellious. She can be very hard at times. I'm sorry. It won't happen again. I'll see to that." The other men in the room did not make a fuss of it. They were among some of his closest friends.  
  
I couldn't hear anymore of it. I snuck back into my room and cried. Was that really my father I had heard in there? I didn't care what they'd do to me tomorrow. I just cried.  
  
I got the ax early that morning. The memories of it are merely a blur now, but I'll do the best I can.  
  
I was not awaked by Louisa the maid as I usually was. It was my mother and father who were standing over me. That vision of them looking down on me was the only time I can remember I was truly afraid of them.  
  
I got a lecture as would be expected. I don't remember the exact words anymore. It was mostly about like being respectful to adults, children should be seen and not heard. Then I inquired that if children were not able to express their opinion what kind of adults would they become. I was quickly silenced. Apparently I didn't know my place. Ironic don't you think?  
  
Then I had to explain to them where it was I obtained my new knowledge. I told them. Then I was informed that my library privileges were being revoked save from what they picked out for me. That was the bullet. Reading. They couldn't let me read what I wanted to anymore.  
  
Maybe it wasn't even what the words they said to me that hurt so much. It was the harshness and the anger with which they spoke. I looked at them unflinching never losing eye contact. If I was going down I'd take as it came to me.  
  
I was to understand that I was never to talk like that again and that it was an "indiscretion" on my part. There were certain things you just didn't do. And I did it. I did it.  
  
After they were done my father had gotten himself so angry he raised his hand to slap me. But he dropped it at his side. It was not uncommon or inappropriate for parents to strike their children whenever they felt it necessary. My mother had slapped me once or twice. Not that it was much of an excuse, but Mother was a generally unhappy and frustrated person. Papa had never made me feel that way. I had never seen him so angry with anybody. He would have hit me. He was so much bigger and stronger than me. If there was anything he had ever taught me it was picking on people your own size. It was also a personal rule of his never to hit women. He put his down hand though. He stopped himself. I had made him so angry he forgot himself.  
  
When Victoria asked me what happened I just told her I had an indiscretion and told her no more. I didn't believe it though. I still believed I was right in my opinions and even if I wasn't I still had the right to express them, but I never told anybody that. I knew it and that was enough for me. That's when I wrote that poem for myself; just in case I ever forgot.  
  
The months rolled on by and things cooled down. On a lighter note I made new friends later that year.  
  
It was a perfect summer day. Not as hot as usual; the weather was absolutely perfect. I had been outside having a muffin in my favorite tree right by the river's edge. (My home in Philadelphia was on East River Drive overlooking the Schuylkill River.) After a peaceful Sunday luncheon I wandered off by myself for a while. I told my father I'd be going for a walk in the gardens and he was quite pleased with that.  
  
Henry DeWitt Bukater or better known as Hank Bukater, was a model American of the early twentieth century: a distinguished Philadelphia banker, a world traveler, a businessman who enjoyed literature, a firm believer in good exercise.and a white Anglo-Saxon Protestant.  
  
But he was a good man at heart. He quite large in both height and width, and had a hearty laugh. He was very comradely; everybody admired him. I too, admired him. Except for those few weeks the winter before. I still loved him, but I never quite looked at him the same way again. We were almost always excellent friends when I was younger, but deep down I think he desperately wished I had been a boy. I could see it in eyes. My mother was actually the more uptight of the two.  
  
Many times I found her looking out the window of the withdrawing room. She would just keep looking on into some other world as if she were hoping something would come through that window and take her away. I gathered she had loved my father passionately once, but it had all gone by then. People were forever disappointing her. She had a grim outlook on life. For longest time I thought I was the only one who ever really knew her.  
  
Sometimes when I found her there I'd sit in lap and throw my arms around her neck. She'd say she was glad to have me there, but I think it made her sadder. She knew that would be me someday. As I grew older I knew it too. Poor Ruth. What had become of this woman? I knew she was full of life once. I wished I could have given it back to her.  
  
But up there in the willow tree I wasn't thinking about any of those things. After I finished my muffin I thought I might keep my word to my father and go for walk. I decided to skip down to the carriage house to see if anything was happening down there.  
  
It wasn't exactly bursting with life as I had hoped. But I found my way through a row of bushes and came upon another girl. I had never seen her before. My father had just hired some new people to work in the carriage house. Those servants and their families usually lived above it.  
  
She was younger than I was. Her hair was short and light brown and she was a little bit chubby. She just sat there quietly playing with a doll.  
  
"Hello." I said. She had a big grin on her small face and was missing a tooth.  
  
"Hello," she said right back to me, "I'm Kit and I'm seven," she said with a certain amount of pride, "and that's Lily." She pointed to another girl who I didn't see before. Lily was around my age, her hair must have been very long, but her thick African braids were tied up on top of her head. "She's big, but she don't talk much."  
  
Lily spoke up. "I do talk and it's 'doesn't.' I'm Lily Stevens."  
  
"Hello, I'm Rose, how do you do?" They were a little staggered by my formalness. When I realized it I cut them off. I was embarrassed myself. "I live up at that house and I came down here to explore. May I play with you?"  
  
"Oh, please would you? Lily and me are the only other little girls here!"  
  
"It's 'Lily and I,' Kit," stated Lily. "yes, Rose we'd love it if you stayed and played with us. There's a tunnel in the big line a bushes under there. Want to go see it?"  
  
"Yes of course!" We scurried off and into the tunnel. It was like a little room.  
  
"It's our secret," whispered Kit, "nobody else knows about it."  
  
"How old are you, Rose?"  
  
"I'm ten."  
  
Kit thought this amusing. "You sure don't look ten."  
  
"You look more like twelve. You're a bit tall."  
  
"Or twenty! You're actually littler than Lily!"  
  
"Yes, I'm eleven." Smiled Lily.  
  
"I already told her I was seven."  
  
Lily turned to me. "Rose is very grown up name."  
  
Funny. I had always thought of it as just my name. It was what I was called by almost everyone. But then again I had always thought of myself as very grown up.  
  
"I guess it is then." I thought aloud.  
  
"Don't," Kit paused, ".doesn't anybody call you Rosie or something?"  
  
"Well my father does sometimes, but I'm usually just Rose.but actually you can call me anything you want really."  
  
"Well you can be Rose if like. My real name's Katherine, Katherine O'Reilly, but I like Kit."  
  
"And then I'll be Lily." Then there was a pause for moment. Now that we had names and ages established we needed another topic. It was Lily who thought of a new one. "Your daddy owns all this doesn't he? Your Mr. DeWitt Bukater's daughter." I nodded. "We're new here. Our mothers are washerwomen and my dad runs the stables."  
  
"My pop is the gardener and me and Lily do the wash too." Lily failed to correct Kit's grammar that time. I let it slide too.  
  
"Do you always sit like that?" Lily interjected.  
  
".What?" I didn't understand.  
  
"Like you've got a stick up your rear end." She clarified it for me.  
  
"I was just thinking you don't really sit like a kid." That was the farthest we got on the subject.  
  
By this time we were quite bored with talk and decided that playing tag was a much more valuable use of our time. And you know, it really was.  
  
It must have been an hour later when I heard my mother calling, but was too soon. It always is. I told Kit and Lily I'd come down and play with them as often as I could. And that's just what I did.  
  
When I went back to dress for dinner I decided not to tell my parents about my new friends. I didn't think my parents would have been absolutely scandalized by my making friends with servant girls. They knew me too well. Then again, just in case, they best not be informed.  
  
"What's this?" My mother was referring to the state of my person. "You like a ragamuffin." I then noticed my large taffeta bow flopping over my forehead. My dress was dirty and my stocking was torn in more places than one. I did my best to pretend not to notice. Mom just sighed. "Go dress for dinner." I dashed through the house and up the large curving grand staircase. I vaguely recall my mother shouting to me not to run.  
  
Years went by and I was able to keep up my friendship with Lily and Kit. Unfortunately, I barely got to see them. We never went in the tunnel anymore. My parents never knew of the closeness of our friendship, but they knew I visited them. I told them sometimes I would just be by the carriage house for a day or I'd go down there to tutor them with their schooling. They thought I was becoming a charitable young woman. Sometimes, even if they (Lily and Kit) objected I helped them with their chores. But I saw less and less of them over the years.  
  
It went on without my knowing it, naturally, but my father's company had made one bad investment after another for several years and they were quickly losing money. I actually did find out about his serious debt shortly before his death.  
  
I was never meant to control my own life. I was to live by other people's choices. People who I thought to have less will than I. After my debutante party when I was sixteen I eventually became known as one of the finest young ladies in Philadelphia.  
  
It was late October 1911 when I met Caledon Hockley for the first time in years. My father had been a close associate of Nathan Hockley of Pittsburgh for most of their lives. Actually, Hockley Steel Co. turned out to be one of the last of DeWitt Bukater's profitable investments.  
  
Anyway Cal never made any particular impression on me the first I met him and he didn't seem to strike any interest the second time around. He was the same as the rest of them as far as I was concerned. But to my parents, he was their knight in shining armor. After that meeting he showed up regularly. I knew what was up.  
  
I should tell you now that not only was the company going under; my father was dying. He knew it too, beyond a shadow of a doubt. Despite all his exercising and good living he was dying at the age of 52. Heart disease would claim him in the end. He hated weakness. And now, he was becoming it. He was indeed dying. Why did he care about dying when his wife and daughter were already dead? He told almost no one, not even his daughter. I did find out though, but for the mean time Mother and Father spent every waking hour of their lives trying to push me deeper and deeper into Cal Hockley's heart.  
  
At first I made a few honest attempts to love Cal. Maybe I found him unlovable, but then again so was my mother, and outwardly I probably was too. While I was engaged in conversation with him I would secretly psychoanalyze him. What made him tick? What was at the core of this man? Under the charm, the looks, everything, I found the bare naked truth of his soul. It filled his eyes and his voice and his breath. You could feel it all around him. Money. At the beating, life-giving center of this man was money. Power, arrogance, over-confidence, and money.  
  
Maybe someone could come along and melt this cold man's heart, but it wasn't me. A daunting task that would have should I had resolved to take it on.  
  
I was surprised any man would take to me. I was stubborn, rebellious, arrogant; not admirable traits in a woman. I was, as they said "not agreeable." But I was a healthy and beautiful young woman, and more importantly from a powerful family.  
  
Cal took to me instantly. He found my fiery redhead disposition "pleasing." He thought if I did cause any problems I could be broken in so to speak. I was already as well trained as a circus animal. Beaten and submissive, ready to do my act at the master's command.  
  
He knew of my family's trouble. He had enough money anyway. He would be to gain even more respectability by marrying into another respected family. I still wondered why a man nearly thirty years old was doing with a teenage girl. I was so young the world, but I wasn't vulnerable and insecure or so I thought. I was well aware of everything around me. No, my girlhood had been taken away. I was never meant to have one.  
  
We were engaged by December. It was final. My fate had been sealed. Of course he had asked my father first. He knew he didn't need to get official permission, but he was good. He knew what he was doing.  
  
The day he proposed to me was like being thrown in jail. I was in the withdrawing room reading. It was Freud actually. He was not very well known then, but he absolutely riveted me. And it became useful in conversation. But back to the withdrawing room.  
  
I was reading. I felt calm at that moment. I had been trying to be alone all that afternoon, but with little and short lived success. Then finally there was time for myself. Then there was a knock at the door. No. Why me? I sighed heavily.  
  
"Come in." It was Cal.  
  
"I hope I'm not catching you at a bad time."  
  
"No. Of course not."  
  
"Then I was wondering if I could ask you something quite particular." Here it was. I knew it. Time for my act.  
  
"Well then, I should particularly like to hear it." He got down on one knee.  
  
"I adore you." He didn't say he loved me. He adored me. Maybe it was the closest thing to love he had ever felt. "I can't imagine life without you." He didn't have much of an imagination to be honest. "Say you'll be my wife, Rose. Now and Forever." There was something in the way he looked at me. It was unexpectedly tender, almost unashamed, sweet even. I almost loved him for a moment. I knelt down to his level trying to show him the same tenderness back.  
  
*Just breathe and say it.* "Yes. Yes I will. Of I course I will." He stood up and lifted me up with him. He slipped a diamond ring on my finger. "It's lovely Cal!"  
  
"You're lovely! Oh I do love you Rose!" He pulled my mouth toward his and kissed me hard. I clenched his shoulders, gripping them. Then moved my arms over his back. He held me for a long time and the deed was done. Then he released me. He had won. He kissed me again. "You're perfect." Then he took my hand. And brought me downstairs and we announced the engagement. But before I left the room I glanced at my mother's window. Now it was my turn. But Mother and Father were saved at least.  
  
Later that night, after all the excitement, after everyone left I found myself in my father's office. I looked at the family tree framed above his desk. Each person had their birthstone under their name and dates. I found mine. "Rose Cornelia DeWitt Bukater February 24, 1895-" And I touched the little amethyst under it. *How lovely to have the Hockley name added to this fine list.* My whole life I had been brought up to believe that I was something special. Something better than common. Something rare. I saw then then that I was just another jewel on the family tree.  
  
The next week was full of fuss and pomp and circumstance. We had to set a wedding date, set it up at the church, bridesmaids, groomsmen, guests, oh the guest's list (really it would be more like a who's who list). Everything. I was being swallowed up. My future looked grim. I saw stretched out before me. Lots of mindless social functions and ceremonies and parading around like I had seen it in my past only this time instead of being showed off by my father I'd be showed off by my husband. I'd bare him children, or heirs, if you like. I hoped I wouldn't give him any boys. I didn't want another Cal running around, but I didn't want to be responsible for another girl either. She'd only see what I saw. I was being sucked in. I was trapped. I couldn't carry on with my own life; I'd lost the will. Still, this was all fine because my life was being handled just fine by everyone else.  
  
After years passed, Cal would probably keep a mistress. Even though he'd be old and fat and I'd still be young and beautiful. My father did it to my mother. He was ten years her senior. I could see Cal doing it to me.  
  
I went to my room and collapsed on the bed. I tried to stifle loud cries. I grabbed a letter opener on my nightstand and plunged into the palm of my hand until it drew blood, wishing I had the guts to put it in my heart.  
  
I went to Lily and Kit the next day. I ran threw the snow down to the carriage house.  
  
"I'm engaged." I raised my arms up half way and flopped them back to my side, almost shrugging.  
  
"Oh." Said Kit. Lily didn't say anything. I had truly lost touch with them. "The Hockley man."  
  
"Yes." I said in a low voice. I almost didn't hear myself. "I'm going to New York soon and then I'll be gone forever in a few months. I'll miss you." They knew what I was thinking. Even Kit knew and she was barely fourteen.  
  
Lily came towards me. "Then go then. This is the way things happen."  
  
"I'll miss you." I repeated. We had grown apart. I'd made them hate me somehow. Maybe I'd grown into 'one of them.' I had. I pretended to be what I hated. Even to my friends. "I'm going to go now. Take care of yourselves." I heard Kit mutter a good-bye behind me. I wished I'd gotten to hug them one last time, I wished to God I could have hugged them, but I didn't. That was it.  
  
I had gotten my hands on a copy of "Therese Raquin." I felt a kindred spirit in her in way. Always meant to be there for other people. Someone with an iron will who was silenced and submissive her whole life. Never meeting a single real human being. And only to find her lover and maybe even she herself were no better. I was fascinated by it; I read about 3 times. I had all this dormant passion inside me that no one knew about or could unleash. I put it all into books.  
  
I decided that maybe I could let myself live like this for the rest of my life. The angst-ridden story of a tortured soul. Ever rebellious, yet ever pushed down. No one would ever know of her pain until she published her memoirs. Always keeping the fire within her concealed, but it was always there. No one could ever truly break her. The warrior spirit trapped forever. I could go on, but I'll stop here. This seemed like a romantic idea and the best I could hope for at the time, but later someone gave me a better idea.  
  
After Christmas our entourage went to New York City. We knew my father wasn't well, but he insisted on going. I met up with Victoria there. She was to be my maid of honor. Her face reflected the remnants of the lively child she had been. That wonderful vitality was gone. She greeted me with a breathy "Rose Darling."  
  
One evening we attended the opera. We had box seats for "La Boheme." I even remember what I wore. It was a sapphire color gown with black beads.  
  
I loved theater. The picture show too. The stories took me away for a while. I loved watching the actors and the dancers and the singers. They seemed so free. It was an escape, but at the same time they spread messages to other people, told stories. I wanted to be them. Their joys and pains were so beautiful. Maybe mine were too. I loved art too. Any art: fine arts, performing arts, anything that celebrated the human condition, anything that wasn't afraid to go deeper, express emotion.  
  
I let myself be in the story for while and feeling their emotions in their song. After it was over I was still thinking about it. On our way up to the hotel Papa took his final blow. He was just in the halls going to his room when he collapsed. Nathan, Cal, and that contemptible man Lovejoy carried him into his bed and called for a doctor. I was kept hostage in my room by my mother and Cal. Trudy, my maid, just stood there in the corner and tried to be comforting. I eventually just pushed everyone out of the way and made my way to my father.  
  
He looked like a sick child on that bed. I had never seen him like that, but I just went to him and took his hand. No one protested now. I was soon joined by my mother. She couldn't bear to look at him at first, but then she came to him. He was wheezing. He didn't speak; he just smiled. Then he closed his eyes and the life just drained from him.  
  
My mother realizing everything collapsed and wailed. I caught her and held her in my arms like a child. She sobbed and I rocked her back and forth with my chin resting on her head. Later I took her to bed and tucked her in.  
  
I went to my room. Almost immediately after Trudy left Cal came in.  
  
"I'm so sorry. I don't know how--"  
  
I put my hand up. "Just let me go to bed Caledon." Personally I couldn't think of going to bed and carrying on normal routines after what happened. I eventually got him to leave. There was nothing he could do.  
  
The funeral services were grand and there was a large turn out. That's all I could say for it. Once everything seemed to pass Mother and Cal decided to take me to London for two months. To cheer me up I suppose. It was one of my favorite cities. It seemed bleak and dreary. Everything was. They threw me a party there. My birthday. I was the only one who forgot.  
  
We left in April and were to be going home on the RMS Titanic. We boarded ship and I was to be married in a month. Every time I looked anywhere I wanted to scream. I was beginning to lose my mind. Every time anyone spoke their voice was like an insect crawling through my veins. I felt the sudden urge to rip out my hair and skin. Nothing was human. Not even me. I looked at my reflection in the mirror one night. I saw a lifeless geisha doll. I ripped at everything on me that I could and hurled something from my dresser at the mirror and ran out. I couldn't even make myself understand.  
  
I ran out on deck. Images of my whole life ran through my mind. The first few times I thought of killing myself I thought of how sorry I'd make everybody. They'd pay. Now I didn't care how they felt. I just wanted out. I had to get out. I thought once of some young man I'd seen earlier that day as I leaned on the stern. Why did he plague my mind? To hell with them. *Fuck them all.* Now there was just me and my final resting place. Then a there was voice behind me. My life changed forever. 


	2. Starting Over

So I broke away from my life as it once was. I gave it up for something new and wonderful. Something better. Something pure. Love. That painful world that was my old life had been literally washed away, but along with it went someone I loved. And a new horror was wrought upon me.   
  
Had it been real? Had what happened really happened? I'm not talking about Jack. He was the only true thing I knew. He seemed more real than anybody I'd ever met. But what happened that night. All those people. There were so many of them and they were so helpless. I'd never rid my mind of those images.  
But I lost Jack. By sticking together we had a responsibility to each other. He held up his end. Why couldn't I? If only he had tried to get on the damn board one more time if only we had thought of that. Why hadn't I thought of that? I should have thought of that. Why didn't I think of that? He was right. *You can't breathe. You can't think.* I could find a hundred other mistakes besides that one.   
He made me promise to live. Why didn't he follow his own word? He never said he'd loved me back. I think deep down he thought he'd make it, but I came first. I came first. He put me before himself. No one had ever done that for me.  
Lying there in that lifeboat I kept forgetting he was gone. Every time I woke up I would turn my head to check on him. I wanted to die every time I looked on that empty spot next to me.  
The following few days I was in complete shock, but I still hid from my family. I was taken to the doctor immediately. I was incapacitated for several hours. Severe hypothermia. Everything was a blur those first few hours. I didn't see anything clearly and all sounds blurred together. I forgot what happened or where I was.  
But early that day I remembered everything perfectly clear. Painfully clear. My voice was a little stronger. I was in bed in some makeshift hospital when it happened. Everything came back to me at full speed. I screamed. My voice ripped threw the room, breaking the quiet of shuffling feet, muffled cries and piercing my own ears. I couldn't help it. It hurt so much. It was worse than any ache my illness could give me. God help me it was so awful.   
I attended to by somebody looking very stressed, but concerned. Luckily he just tried to calm me down. He had the sense enough not to ask me what was wrong.   
But by late morning I was out on deck with hot tea and a dry blanket. I was not dead, nor was I dying anymore. And I had been literally dying apparently. But I was not dead. Therefore I had no need to take up space and waste other people's time.  
I was dizzy and shaking everywhere for days. I cried to myself for about an hour. Not so much pitying myself anymore. This wasn't fair to Jack. He deserved to live. He fought for it and not just for himself. He was just a kid too. A decent, loving kid. Just a boy. He had the whole world, a whole life ahead of him, but at least he had lived while he was alive.  
The tears I shed were not shed by someone who'd lost a lover. Lovers always love again. I lost my best friend. My only true friend. Someone who loved me, who believed in me, and would fight for me to the bitter end. But I was still in love with him. How could someone with so much life, be dead?   
This was not going to be over in a few days. Jack wasn't coming back. And what I saw, what I lost would always be with me. This would be with me for the rest of my life, however long that was.   
I would never shake this. None us would. But I remembered what I promised him. And I'd go to hell and come right back again to keep it. I owed him that.   
But I still lost him. Oh, Jesus, I lost him. We tried. We tried so hard. I guess you could say we fought nobly and lost. Still, it wasn't right. And nothing could ever make it right.  
I found out later Mother and Cal had made it. I stunned myself a little after that. I was so angry. I wanted him to be dead. I actually wanted someone dead. Maybe I would have felt differently if he had died, but we'll never know now.   
I wanted to see my mother so bad it hurt new places. But I could never go to her. It would ruin my new plan. She might understand, but she would never let me go. I hated myself for leaving her like. She had been manipulative, phony and feeble, but she was my mother and she did love me. But I would sacrifice everything by staying and if I saw her again I would not be able to leave her. I could never go back.  
  
I woke up the morning of the 16th to a new and cruel world again. Not so shocking and bitter as the morning after, but worse still. I had to remind myself again that Jack had been real, he had existed, and I would let him down if I quit now. A quick adjustment after my life had been turned upside down twice, but I no longer had the luxury of time. As soon as we docked I had to get far away.   
I kept repeating his name to myself incessantly as if I was coaxing him to stay alive. I was really keeping myself alive by doing that.   
That morning after breakfast and the doctor visit I was on the move again. I searched for anyone friendly. I checked the lists regularly. Molly Brown had survived. No I couldn't go to her. She would tell my mother where I was. I felt awful hiding like that. I was not ashamed of what I did.   
Mostly I searched in steerage. Fabrizio, Tommy, even little Cora and her father. No one. I searched harder for Fabri. If he was alive he had to know. I dreaded telling him, but I would have to. His best friend died for me. Oh God how would I tell him. I repeated this to myself over and over again believing I would find him. I never did. It was hopeless. All those people. It should have been me. Mothers, fathers, children, God, children. No but the likes of Cal, my mother and I were spared.   
Another two days until we saw land again. New York City. My father died there. The whole time I had the necklace in Cal's wretched jacket. I thought over tossing it over board. Some sort of shedding the old life ceremony. Maybe someone would see me. Or maybe I could sell it, give myself a head start. But I kept it. To remind me of the good, the bad, and the ugly. It reflected it all with it's perfectly cut corners and brilliant shine. No, I wouldn't sell it. I would never let myself depend on Cal's money ever again.   
It was pouring rain and dark when we docked. Appropriately foreboding. But then I saw the Statue of Liberty. It helped a little. But staring into space helped more. I stood there up on deck for what seemed like…well, I really don't know how long. Christ, how long had I been standing there?  
I wished Jack had been standing there with me. I knew it would turn I to a bad habit, but I pretended he was there. If I closed my eyes and concentrated hard enough I could almost feel him, smell him. Then someone would stomp on by and rock me from my reverie. I decided to salvage at least one tangible part of him on order to rid myself of my old chains forever…  
"Can I have your name please love?"  
"Dawson. Rose Dawson."  
  
There were so many reporters waiting for us. I truly pitied the people that got off first. They were immediately attacked with questions and cameras. By the time I got off there were still a few stragglers left, but I marched on past as fast and as determined as I could. I just kept going. Legs numb, feet throbbing, throat sore, eyes stinging, head pounding, even my hair hurt. But in way my physical pain made me feel like I was compensating for the guilt I felt. The rain stung my face, but I had been rested up. I was as ready as I could be. I kept walking. Not looking back.  
I had to stop someplace I thought. But where? Where could I go? I was never particularly passionate about church growing up. It was another place Mother and Father and I showed up. But here I was standing outside of a small modest looking church on a dead end Manhattan street. I just sat on the step at first. No one was out there. It must have been well past midnight by then. Maybe I'd sleep here tonight and find work or shelter in the morning. I realized that if I kept moving ahead I didn't have to think. As soon as I stopped everything came flooding back to me so fast as if to knock me over. Cries and screams of men, women and children in my head and surrounding me. I started shaking uncontrollably. I ran into to the alley to vomit.   
I returned to the step. I couldn't walk anymore. I needed to start over in morning. Maybe I would sleep here. I might have let myself die in the streets, but it was as if Jack wouldn't let me. He died a miserable death. I thought it was only fair I might. Still, if it had been me, I wouldn't have asked any less of him.  
I told myself I would still be alive to face another morning even though I didn't want to be. I still had a life while so many others hadn't. I wondered if the faces I saw, people I passed by that stayed in my mind, I wondered which ones had died.   
I tried to sleep, but couldn't. That awful aching in my chest returned. I tried to keep quiet and stifle my sobs, but they broke through at full force. Everything I had whether I wanted it or not went down on the Titanic.   
I didn't hear the footsteps approaching me. "What's the matter, child?" She had a gentle voice and an Irish accent.   
I looked up to see an old pale-faced woman in an over-coat and nightgown. I stood up. I stared at her for a moment. I was several inches taller than her. She was a very tiny woman with an aquiline nose and thin lips. Not that I had any reason to act dignified anymore, but with my somewhat frightening appearance I assumed I scared her. Actually she was quite undeterred.   
"What are you doing out on the street at this hour?" I couldn't speak. I wasn't sure how to answer her. "You're not one those girls that's used to these streets, that's for certain." She noticed my dress. Wrinkled, but obviously tailored. Then she looked down at my shoes. They were quality and fine looking too. I was embarrassed by them.  
"I'm…I'm lost."   
"Well, where are you going, dear?"  
"Ah…I…"  
"Come let's get you dry and decent shall we." She took my arm and led me in the building next door. I had stopped moaning and crying by now, but I still sniveled a bit. "Quiet now. Don't want to wake the neighbors." She led me up the stairs into her apartment and turned up her oil lamp. It was modest, but clean and everything was arranged just so. I was motioned to an old armchair. Who was this woman who was so trusting as to take me in off the streets. "Now, what's your name?"  
I knew that! I can answer that one no problem. *Remember. You're Rose DAWSON now.* "Rose. Rose Dawson."  
"I'm Mrs. Alice Grant. This is my home. Most people call me Mrs. Grant, but we're in my house now and Alice is perfectly fine with me. I would prefer you stay here tonight, but I'd like to know a little more about you first before I let you rest."  
I managed a soft "Alright."   
"Do you have any place to stay? Any family? Anyone?" She half-pleaded, but she seemed to figure I was alone.  
"No."  
"Where are you from?"  
"Philadelphia."  
"That's a bit of a ways off now. How did get here, sweetie?"  
Alice had the right to question me. After all she did take me in. I didn't want to tell her no matter how kind she was. "What happened? Something must have happened to you." I nearly started to cry again, but I stopped myself. I was no feeble weeping little girlie. I was Rose Cornelia Whatever-the-hell-I-said-my-last-name-was! *Pull yourself together, girl!*   
I spoke in a low, calm voice trying to keep my wits about me. "I came off of the Carpathia this evening. I lost everyone on the Titanic." That wasn't so hard was it? Yes it was. The very words stabbed at my chest. That was that hardest thing I'd ever had to say. Why didn't I just lie?  
Alice said nothing, but gave me a look of over-whelming pity.   
"I'm going to take care of you now, okay?" I nodded. She gave me an old cotton nightgown from her bureau and helped me into and hung my old clothes over a chair. I was helped into a bed in the second bedroom. Who was this woman, Alice Grant? Was she for real?  
"Sleep now. Everything will be sorted out in the morning."  
"Thank you."   
"It's alright. It's what I do." She was about to leave.  
"I'm sorry I woke you."  
She knelt down next to me. I was already tucked under the covers. "Never apologize for what you've been through. You couldn't help it and it wasn't your fault. Are you ashamed of yourself for anything?"  
"No."  
"Then don't apologize…Well, I am tired now that you mention it. I'll be off to bed meself. Goodnight Rose."  
"Goodnight Mrs. Grant…Alice." She smiled and closed the door.  
Sleep. I had barely slept in days. Would I ever have a goodnight's sleep again? I wondered. I wanted Jack. Dead, alive, heaven, or hell. I wanted to know if he was alright. But he never died for me. I wanted to tell I was going to be fine. I wanted him to me everything was going to be fine. If only. *I'll never sleep again. He should be here right now. I love you, Jack Dawson. Wherever you are…I don't care if I do ever sleep again--*   
I think that was the first time I ever fell asleep in mid-thought.   
  
I opened my eyes. It was early morning. It was the same simple little room I had gone to bed in. All I could hear was the rhythm of someone breathing down my neck.  
"You gonna lie here all day?"  
"I might as well."  
"Good. Then I'm not moving either." He moved himself a little closer to me. I rolled over to face him and fell off the bed on to a cold, hard floor. I looked up at the empty bed in horror.  
"JACK!?"  
It was one o'clock in the afternoon. Very late for me. I came out to see Alice reading in the on the armchair. She was so small she seemed to disappear into it.  
"Up already?!" I laughed.  
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be sleeping so late. I…" Alice popped up out of the chair. I noticed she bounced quite a bit when she walked. She really was a funny little lady.  
"You need to eat something, dearie. I'll get to the kitchen. You fancy eggs?"  
"Uh…yes. Yes eggs are fine."  
"How would you like them?"  
"Uh…" I replied eloquently. Jack and a thousand others had died and I was deciding how to have my eggs cooked. "Scrambled?"  
"Scrambled it is. Sit yourself down now." She pointed to a kitchen chair. "We'll get you dressed after you eat. Can't have you wasting away now can we?" I obeyed.  
I paused for moment. "Why did you take me in?"   
Alice looked up from the eggs. "Why would I not? Couldn't just be left out there. Nice young girl like you. Not that you like an easy victim. I'm lucky I heard you." I looked down. "I came over here from Ireland when I was twenty. My parents couldn't afford me or marry me off. So they shipped me off to the New World. I had no one too. Until I met my husband. God rest his soul. He met me and took me out this awful boarding house I had been living in. He was the minister of our church next-door right until died. I never refuse anyone in need into my home."  
"Thank you, really."  
"The best way of thanking me would be to finish these eggs." She put them down at my place along with a glass of milk. I ate.  
  
I tried not to read the headlines about what was called the worst marine tine disaster ever, but they were everywhere. Fifteen hundred people. And I was there. When I was a little girl I had always hoped to be witness to some great historical event. I take it back now.  
There was another interesting piece of news I found days later in the back of the paper. 'Prominent Philadelphia Family Suffers Another Loss.' The article was even more interesting. 'After the death of Henry DeWitt Bukater earlier this year. It has been reported that his daughter, seventeen year-old Rose DeWitt Bukater was one of the many victims of the Titanic disaster. Although her mother Ruth DeWitt Bukater and fiancé Caledon Hockely did survive. Both safely boarded lifeboats. It was reported by Hockley that she insisted on returning to her room to fetch her mother's brooch and a few other precious items and never returned. No further explanation was offered. Her body has not been recovered. It has also been discovered that DeWitt Bukater's bank had been in serious debt for quite some time and the company as gone under. All property owned by the DeWitt Bukater family has been purchased by Hockely Steel Co. to help pay off their associate's debt. Also with this, rumors have been circling around Philadelphia concerning the death of Young Bukater.'  
I ripped it out so Alice wouldn't see. Not as if she guess, but I did it out of impulse I guess. I was horrified. But I really shouldn't have been surprised. It never said anything about what happened to my mother. Was she out on the streets or had Cal given her his good fortune, the awful bastard.  
  
I'd like to say I made it completely on my own with no help from anybody. Maybe it would make this story sound better, make it grittier I suppose, but no, that's not how it happened. I was grateful to Alice though. Before I realized it weeks had passed. Alice was easy to get along and never pressed me about my past.  
Aside from my personal grief and sadness Al found me to be quite a lively young woman and good company. I decided later that I should find work. Alice was living pretty decently from the money she and husband had saved over the years and from her daughter's checks. But I feared having to support two people might put a strain on her income.   
Alice was a little disappointed at first, she wouldn't have me around all day. Not that Alice spent her days hanging around her little apartment mind you. She was always visiting neighbors and helping out with church functions. Still, she gave me the go ahead.  
There still remained one problem. What the hell was I good for? I knew how to host parties and sew. That was about it. I felt I was truly useless person. Okay, so I could write. I was always writing poems and short stories. In fact they were still all hidden about in my room up at the Bukater Mansion. I wondered if anyone had found them while cleaning it out. I wouldn't be using it anymore.  
The first day of job hunting I just skipped around the city looking for anything. Nothing. Alice didn't want me out so much. She said I was ill, but I absolutely loathed sitting inside all day lounging about. True, I had lost weight. A lot of weight. And I wasn't sleeping. That reminding me. When was the last time I had my monthly?  
Oh, God was I pregnant? I always thought I would make a good mother and it was Jack's, thank God. But what would I do? What would Alice think of me? How would I support a baby?  
Then I got it. Not pregnant, no baby. I should have been relieved, but I was heart broken. I cried for most of that day and stayed in my room, avoiding Alice. Not that I needed anything material to remember Jack by, but…but I had gotten myself used to the thought of it and after the initial realization, welcomed it.  
No one would ever remember a man named Jack Dawson, but me…but wait a minute! He had a hometown did he not? And there was something else I didn't mention earlier. He said he had no close kin in *that part of the country.* Later he mentioned he had family in New York. He had pictures of them in his sketchbook. An Aunt, an Uncle and a cousin, formerly of Wisconsin too. I even knew what they looked liked! But how the hell was I supposed to find them? New York City was a big damn place. And looking for someone named "Dawson?" The Boston Dawsons, the Chippewa Falls Dawsons, the New York Dawsons now? I was sure every little town and big city has its own Dawson family.  
So while I was on the lookout for employment I also asked as to the residence of any Joseph or Margaret Dawson. Nothing. Except one fine day I asked a young boy and he directed me to a Mr. Joey "Knuckles" Dawson. He was ten. Born and raised on   
the streets of Manhattan. When I approached him he invited me to the picture show and complemented me on my eyes, my hair, my bosoms and my ass. I invited him to be smacked to several times in face. I turned down his, he turned down mine. Thus ended my brief association with Joey "Knuckles" Dawson.  
On my way back home that day I thought to myself that I should get more rest as Alice said. Yes, I had lost weight, I hadn't been eating or sleeping very well. In fact almost hardly.  
That day was May 7, 1912. It was nearly six o'clock when I realized it. I'd be late for dinner. And Alice's daughter, Sally would be visiting from Staten Island. I started to run. I never make it. Damn. I was so tired it hurt. I felt a little nauseous too. Probably from the lack of food. My headache didn't help either.  
But I had to make it so I kept on running. I began to feel dizzy. I though I cold dash back into in alley if I needed to throw up. I was just few blocks away now and-  
I collapsed. That was all I could remember.   
  
Next I woke up in a hospital. *Oh no. I think I missed dinner.* I felt oddly, euphoric. I looked up to see a nurse and a young man in his early twenties. He was a pretty big guy. Very tall and strong looking, but looked quite harmless. His hair was brown and little longer than most, but not as long as Jack's. He had these big brown puppy dog eyes as well. He seemed friendly enough. So I decided to grace him with my attention. That and he was standing right over me.  
I don't really remember our conversation very well, but he described it to me later when I was less drugged up.  
"I thought was going to have to tag you. You're one tough cookie." He said.  
"Hmmm…?"   
"You were found unconscious in the streets. When you were brought back you awoke and went mad, bursting it to a series of fits. You've been here overnight in Bellevue. Do you remember any of this?"  
I thought for a moment. "Ya know…"  
"Yes?"  
"I don't know."  
"You asked to see someone named Jack. And then demanded to be released, first in English, then in French, and then I believe in Latin."  
"Jack's fine, he's just sleeping. My Latin's not very good you see. Everything's all backwards in that God damn language, but ssshhh…" I put my finger to my mouth.   
"That's no problem. Can you give me your name, an address, anything?"  
"Max."  
"Max?"  
"Maximillion Hound." That was my dog's name. He died when I was seven.  
"Really?"  
"No, but ssshhh."  
"Anything else?"  
"Yes, the chronology of British kings and queens dating from 1066 are: William the Conqueror…William the Conqueror…and…oh damn it all to hell! I'm American for God's sake! How am I supposed to know that!?"  
"It's alright."  
"Ssshhh." Then I started giggling.   
"Listen, Miss, I better talk to you when you're a bit more yourself. After your episode they sedated you. I see it hasn't worn off yet."  
He motioned to leave, but I grabbed his arm. "Wait, just who in the hell are YOU?"  
"You probably won't remember later." I gave him an angry look, as angry I could with my heavily dilated pupils. Which was reported to be extremely funny. "Calvert. George Calvert. I work for the police. I'm the officer the brought you in here."  
"You did this?!"  
"No,…I…" It was hopeless.  
"Now tell me,…Max."  
"Ssshhh…" George asked me later as I'm sure you're wondering now. What's with the shushing? I don't remember so I'm afraid I'm quite unable to offer a suitable explanation. "Not Max."  
"Oh so that's not your real name?"  
"Nope."   
"So what is it? Alice Roosevelt? Joan of Arc? Julia Swayne Gordon? Clara Kimball Young?"  
"No, but close." I proudly stuck out my hand to shake his. "Rose DeWitt Bukater. At your service." Oh shit.  
He wrote it down.  
"Thank you, Rose."  
"And thank you Officer Calvert. You're a damn good sir." I saluted him.  
Later when I woke up again. I remembered bits and pieces of my conversation with George Calvert. What had I given as my name? Did I tell him about Alice?  
I stopped a nurse and asked for him. He came in an hour later. I told him that I lived with a Mrs. Alice Finnegan-Grant and gave him my address. And that I had been delusional when I gave him the name "Rose DeWitt Bukater" and that my name was in fact, Rose Dawson.   
Alice was contacted and absolutely worried to death. She told me it wasn't my fault. She had actually reported my disappearance to the police later that evening. She took me out of the ward and back home. Thanking the staff and young George profusely.   
  



	3. Starting Over

After my hospitalization things got more or less back on track. There were some things slightly amiss though. Before I left Bellevue, I asked a doctor about some trouble I've been having. I had difficulty reading, with seeing the words. My vision was a little fuzzy, but I could still see fine otherwise.   
First he told me that many people and gradually have problems with there vision and eventually need glasses, but I this had been all of the sudden. Then he told it could be due to brain damage from an accident. Brain damage??!!!   
Apparently loss of vision is associated with trauma to the back of the head, and oddly enough, and severe hypothermia. Wonderful. Fifteen hundred dead, Jack included, I'd never see my mother again, and I was going blind. This I didn't need. Not that it mattered much now, but I was amazed I walked off that dock without a scratch, at least physically. My God, losing my eyesight, brain damage.   
Compared to everything else this shouldn't have bothered me so much, but it did. So I had to get glasses. I could read fine after that. And there seemed to be nothing else wrong with me.   
Actually I came to like my glasses. They made look older and rather dignified. Another addition to my new life. Glasses, new, more sensible clothes, it was still the same old me, but it felt fresh despite my loneliness.   
I'd exited my cocoon of a radiant Philadelphia society princess, the most talked about debutante and became the butterfly that was the bespectacled, bohemian Rose Dawson from New York City. I thought it strange that in order to truly be myself I had to change my identity.   
  
The months following got easier. No more newsies in the streets repeating over and over again about the Titanic tragedy until it rang in my ears. It was also the last time ever read anything in the paper referring to Rose DeWitt Bukater. Just a little paragraph. The funeral services were grand and there was a large turn out. That's really all that could be said for it.   
  
The week after I actually felt very at peace, dare I say, happy. Maybe it was because I found something else I was good at.   
After my job search for people looking for seamstresses and the like and getting no because I never worked before I almost gave up. I thought it would easy finding some simple menial work.   
One day I was out on my usual rounds when I met Isaac Sveningsson and Danny McBride in Central Park. I usually stopped there to eat my lunch when Alice was busy.   
I bumped into to two young men. Maybe bumped into wouldn't be correct. I was engaged in an arm wrestling match with Eddie Driscoll, he went to Alice's church. Eddie was six so I was letting him win, but I still pretended to put up a fight. We squatted next to a park bench and put our elbows on it. Unfortunately, I decided to hold my coffee while was doing it.   
After Eddie beat me for a record 23rd time. I jumped up in the agony of defeat. And hit somebody with my coffee, spilling it all over him. He yelled from the burn.   
"Sorry! Oh, sorry. I'm so sorry. Really. Whoops"   
He just smiled at me. "Aw, it's all right."   
Eddie piped up. "Nice going, Rose."   
"Hey, watch it, buster. Don't get too cocky."   
"Only because I've beaten you twenty times in arm wrestling."   
The other two laughed. They were both about my age. My coffee victim spoke next. "It's alright. I've gotten into plenty of accidents before. This is the first time a pretty girl's ever spilled coffee on me and it's truly an honor, miss."   
Eddie made a face.   
"Don't mind Isaac. He's quite homely you see and he'll do and say anything. Not that I think you aren't pretty." He hit his friend in the arm. Actually neither of them was plain in any way. Isaac had light blonde, almost white hair and very pale blue eyes. His friend was freckled red head with a biggish nose, but not ugly.   
"That's alright. I've never been so flattered and embarrassed. I'm Rose by the way. Rose Dawson." I was getting used to saying my new name by now. I always said it with a certain amount pride. "And this is my friend Edward William Driscoll the third."   
"Eddie!" He corrected me.   
"Or better known as Eddie." I looked down at him. He was still sitting on the grass next to the bench.   
"I'm Danny McBride and this is Isaac Sveningsson."   
We stayed in the park for an hour playing baseball with Eddie's schoolmates. Isaac never bothered to change his pants.   
After that the three of us big kids walked Eddie. Eddie noticed I was slighted squeamish about Isaac's attraction to me. All I could think about was Jack. So on the way home Eddie informed Danny and Isaac that himself and I were quite an item.   
Before Eddie flew up the steps to his family's apartment he pulled me down to him and whispered "Don't worry. I covered for ya."   
"Thanks, Ed."   
"Anytime."   
  
That evening after saying good-bye to Danny and Isaac I stopped front of a small, old theater. The sign on the side of the back entrance read: 'Auditions tonight through Thursday, Hamlet.' On a complete whim I auditioned for Ophelia. I had read Shakespeare before, Hamlet several times.   
Inside it was dark and smokey. After waiting for what seemed liked hours I was called up to read. I stood in front of three bored looking men.   
For those ten minutes I was reading completely immersed myself in Ophelia. It was fun being someone else for a while. After I left I was thoroughly pleased with myself. At that moment I didn't care whether or not I got the part. I would thank those men for those ten minutes.   
I told Alice about what I had done. She was pleased that I had experience in the artistic world, but not pleased that I may well be joining theater people. The theater was not an honorable profession. Filled with vagabonds and sinners.   
Three days later I got a letter informing me that I was to be Ophelia and to show up at the theater at 10:00 the next morning. I couldn't contain myself. I grabbed Alice's hands and began to sing. A little like my soon to be alter ego, only I was truly blissful. "Daisy, daisy! Give me your answer true! I'm half crazy over the love of you!" She joined in with me. "It won't be a stylish marriage! I can't afford a carriage! But you'd look sweet, upon the seat, of a bicycle built for two!"   
I ran down the street to meet my crowd in the park. I was so excited prancing around the house that I was making myself late. So I was late. They were short.   
On my way there I bumped into Isaac again, but luckily I did not have my coffee with me. It started to rain. I told him what happened. He was excited for me too.   
He looked up at the rain it was starting to pour now. "I think your game might be canceled."   
"Oh, no. Not with these kids. We play rain or shine." He laughed. "Oh boy." I said. The rain was making my hair heavy. It started to flop to the side with all its pins. "That's it!" I pulled out all the pins and ties and shook my hair loose.   
"Are you crazy?"   
"Maybe, but now I feel much better now." I looked up at the rain again. Still pouring. "I'll race you to the park." I dashed out ahead of him.   
"No fair you got a head start!"   
"Come on be a man! Can't you beat a stupid girl?!" Apparently he couldn't. I beat him.   
We split through the park and I whirled around in circles, arms stretched out like a plane. I grabbed his hands and whirled him around one time and let him go. He almost fell to the ground.   
Isaac stayed with me to help with the ball game. Eddie asked me if I needed any more help in getting rid of him. I assured him I was fine.   
After the game when I went off on my own and stopped to pick up some groceries for Alice I ran into her daughter, Sally, who had just gotten off the train from Staten Island.   
"Rose?!" Sally Grant looked very much like her mother only she was very tall and had dark brown hair. She was unwed and in her late thirties.   
"Hello Sally!"   
"What happened to you?"   
"Well, it rained."   
"I can see that, but look at you. I think that blouse used to be white." So I was a little muddy. I rarely got the chance to be muddy when I was a little girl. It was a lot of fun. "And your hair's all down. Honestly, you look like a street walker."   
"I like my hair down." Sally walked me home after that. And they cleaned me up.   
The next day I went back to the theater. It was crowded with other actors. I was generally disliked because no one recognized me. The director was a large fat man with high voice that was usually in bad mood. So rehearsals started like that. As time went on I became accepted by the group. Soon came opening night. I was nervous as hell. Despite having Ophelia as a nice escape from myself I really didn't think I knew what I was doing, but I promised myself I'd make it. I had been in far worse situations than this one.   
I went on, I did my thing, and just like in rehearsals gave it everything I had. I became Ophelia. I was her. I didn't realize it when I was on stage, but a veteran actress, Edna Weir, who played Gertrude told me I had made the audience cry. When I came on to bow I got applause and woops and several curtains calls. It was amazing. Alice, Sally, the Driscolls, Danny, and Isaac all came out to see me. I hoped that my father and Jack might have seen it somehow.   
The next show I got thrown roses, appropriately, at my feet and somebody threw me a full bottle of beer. I wasn't sure if that was because he liked me so much he was giving a free drink or if he was trying injure me. But luckily I caught it. Then I popped off the cap and took a swig. I got more applause for that.   
Months went by and by fall our little production was over. I went to few more auditions without as much luck as the first. Then I was apart of small vaudeville act with Edna's niece, Eileen. Eileen danced while I played the piano and sang. Not as challenging as Hamlet had been, but good, light-hearted entertainment.   
Alice turned sixty-two that November. The church and the neighborhood threw her a big party. She was extremely thrilled. By Christmas time we all had a terrible flu. Despite everyone being sick I thought of where I was a year ago. I had really come a long way. I had a real family again.   
I still thought of Jack all the time. One Christmas with him would have been nice. I missed him so much. But all this, I had him to thank for it and I promised myself I would find his family. They did have to know that their nephew was dead.   
Some days were good days. Some days were bad days. Some days I laughed when I thought of him. Some days I cried. But I promised him I would make and I had.   
A few days before Christmas I was feeling much better and I volunteered to go pick up a tree. It was a cold, crisp night and all the stars were out. As I walked home with our little tree I looked up at the stars. I felt sick, tired and cold and I hadn't had a hot bath since April, but I felt wonderful. I felt as if his star was shining down on me.   
  
February rolled around and I turned eighteen. I remembered birthday this time and my usual friends showed up for a little party.   
By March Alice became ill. Everyone told her she was fine, but she kept insisting that this was the one. That is was "her time."   
To keep her entertained I had philosophical debates with her. She was definitely on the side of Christian beliefs. I insisted that it didn't matter what you had faith in, as long as you had faith. Normally this was good enough for her, but she bored so she argued. But I eventually won. "I know there's something out there. I don't know what. There's got to be something. It doesn't matter what. As long as there's something. I've always felt there's something. It doesn't matter who's right and who's wrong. People shouldn't try to be good just because of fear of being damned. Can't people just be good. They shouldn't need incentive like some child having candy waved in front of them. So really most people who say they live by the book or whatever it is in their religion are really doing it to secure their own fate." She was a little angry with me when I first said that, but then she went over my point.   
  
Alice was right, this was the one. She died in her sleep on April 5, 1913. Everyone came out to pay their respects. Sally said she would be sad without her mother around, but she was happy for her. She died amongst friends and family and she would be with her mother, father, brothers, sisters, and husband now. She had so many friends waiting for her on either side.   
Her funeral was held two days later. There were so many people there. She had been loved. Sally moved back into the apartment where she had grown up. I moved out. She asked me to stay, but I realized I couldn't stay anymore. I would just wind up wasting away in there. I had go home just one more time.   
I felt strange for leaving without locating Jack's relatives, but I was beginning to feel I'd never find them.   
I packed the evening before. I still had my old dress. I hadn't worn it in close to a year. I also had the necklace and even Cal's jacket. *I should burn this.* I thought. Then I noticed something on it. Just below the left armpit. A bullet whole. I fell backwards onto the bed. My God, he would have killed me. He almost did. What would have happened to Jack if he had shot me right there? I would have been killed instantly in that moment of terror. Would they have killed Jack too? Or would they have left him with my body. So oddly enough I kept it and stuffed it in my suitcase. To remind myself, I suppose.   
Then I felt something on my hand. I moved it away quickly. A butterfly whirled around the room. An orange jewel in the middle of the gray room. I opened the window to let it out.   
  
So I left a week later. I went to Philadelphia to see my mother. Ironically, I left on April 14th. All my friends came out to the train station to wish me well.   
As I poked my head out the window to see them again. Isaac grabbed my hand. "You're not just leaving me like this. Why?"   
"Everybody has reasons for things that they just can't tell."   
"How do you do it, Rose? Every time anything awful happens you just get back up again like nothing happened. Alice told me about what happened to you."   
"Because the alternative is unacceptable." I'll be God damned. I was really beginning to sound like my father.   
"I'll miss you."   
"I'll be back."   
"When?"   
"Someday I promise." I pulled him up and gave him a kiss on the cheek as the train began to pull away.   
  
I would miss them. I really would. I drifted off into sleep. A year ago that day I had been holding Jack in my arms. I hoped I would dream about him that night. A good dream I hoped. I had nightmares too. Sometimes I'd relive the Titanic. I never had a recurring dream up until then.   
In this dream I'd be walking someplace with Jack laughing over something. And I'd see my father. I'd never know exactly why, but I would always be afraid. I always wanted to walk away, but I just kept leading us toward my father. Then I'd open my mouth to say something and then my dear Papa would raise up his hand. I always stood motionless. There was always a small time slot in which I could do something, but I never did. Then my dear Papa would plunge a knife into Jack's heart. And there would be nobody left, but Jack and myself. I'd tell him I loved him and then he would die.   
I didn't know whether my dreams would keep me sane or drive me mad.   
  
The next morning I arrived in Philadelphia. Home. I was wearing old brown skirt, a faded blue blouse, and my old shoes. The white ones I had when I still lived over here, I destroyed my other pair from getting them muddy in rain games. Even though it was warm I covered myself with a big black overcoat and a shawl around my hair. I wore my glasses too. It was a big city no one would recognize me.   
*This is suicide.* I thought. *What will happen if they find me?* I going to say good-bye to my home and my mother one more time and that was it. Maybe. Would she give me away? I hadn't seen what happened to her after the disaster. I wished that getting off the Carpathia that night I could have seen her just one more time. I wanted to just catch a glimpse of her walking off, but I couldn't find her in the crowd.   
When I got off the train. I realized I had only enough money for a hotel for one night. So I slept in the park far from my old home in a less reputable part of town. I wanted to go to Fairmount Park. I used to spend so many days walking around there. I wanted to fall down on it and kiss the grass that grew from its earth.   
I slept on a bench. I clung to my bags tightly. One was my suitcase, the other was a bag of foodstuffs supplied to me by Sally. When I awoke the next morning I found myself aching from head to toe. Benches were not a comfortable place to sleep. I had survived my first night out on the streets. The streets of my own God damn town.   
My food was missing. Damn. Somebody must have pinched it from me while I was sleeping. They didn't take my suitcase though. I had been using it as a pillow. It must have been harder to get.   
I sat up shaking myself awake. *Good morning Philadelphia. Nice to see you again.* I walked down a few blocks to a small café and ate breakfast. If I couldn't find Mother I'd look for Lily, Kit, or even Trudy, if she survived. I didn't think she did. I told myself I'd never see her again, but I had to see my mother. Now that I was on my own and had my own life now and a year had passed since my "death" I thought I was strong enough and she might be too.   
After breakfast I crossed that famous line between bravery and stupidity. I, still my "disguise," marched right on down to East River Drive to where people would probably recognize me. I did do a good job of hiding my face so I thought I was safe.   
First I stopped off at Fairmount Park. It was beginning to feel like home again. Then I moved on towards home. No place was quite like Philly. Boston, Paris, Amsterdam, Rome… London may have been old, beautiful and exciting, New York City might have been the modern day Rome, but Philadelphia had changed so little in all the time it had existed. It wasn't quite as big or as scary as those other places. Our country was born here. This was my Philadelphia.   
Up the road, I could see it! Home. Home! I walked and faster and faster towards my house. I stopped at the gate. It looked the same. My home. My home where I grew up. I took my steps there; I slept there for the first seventeen years of my life. It was still there. "Home."   
I wanted to so bad just to climb right over the gate, run up to my room and launch myself onto my bed. It seemed so natural.   
The house looked empty. I couldn't tell whether anyone was living there or not. I knew the Hockleys owned it now. That didn't matter anymore. Where was my mother?   
What had become of her? I thought of asking around, but that would be dangerous. Maybe I wasn't ready for this.   
I went to my father in hope that by dumb luck I'd find her there. She wasn't. So I sat talking to my father's grave, feeling the letters. 'In Memory of the beloved Henry Francis DeWitt Bukater January 13, 1860 - December 30, 1911.' First I tried to argue with him. But it's very hard to argue with the dead. Not totally impossible, but hard. Then I started apologizing to him about leaving Mother, and then asked for any advice. He had none to offer. I stopped ranting when I saw the grave next to his. 'In Loving Memory of Rose Cornelia DeWitt Bukater February 24, 1895 - April 15, 1912. Lost at Sea.' I should have expected it, but it still caught me off my guard. Finding your death marker when you're still alive usually does. I looked around for anything else. No Ruth DeWitt Bukater anywhere in sight. She was still alive at least.   
Looking at my headstone I realized Jack was right. It was a long one. I had easier last name now. Not so confusing. A double name that wasn't hyphenated usually is though. I hated my middle name too. It was Victoria's fault. She used to call me "Corny." I despised that. So I called her "Victor." God, I'd never see Vickie again either.   
Fortunately or unfortunately I never ran into anyone I knew.   
  
That night I went back to buy a train ticket out of there. I just needed to say good-bye to my home. Maybe I could never be with Mother again. If I could, it would be a long time from now. So I left. I bought the first ticket out of there. Chicago.   
I ate dinner and slept at the station. That morning I left for Chicago. It took a few days to get there. When we stopped I went and explored the city. By noon I realized I hadn't eaten anything so I stopped to have lunch. Then I went out and stopped at a park. There seemed to be some sort important public meeting going on so I decided to sit down and listen.   
There was a mass of women standing around holding signs that said "Votes for Women." I sat down and listened to the speakers for a while. Here were some people who thought the way I did. After the platform was cleared this women's group announced when and where they were going to meet next. It was at some small meetinghouse not far from the park. I wrote it down on a piece of paper.   
To save on cash I didn't have dinner that night and slept at the station again, it was safer there then outside. I woke up starving. I was going to find something to eat, but realized I would be late for the meeting. It was in an hour and I wasn't sure how to get there. I had to ask for directions.   
I realized something strange about Chicago as compared to other cities back East. They never say "go left or take a right or just the past the station." It was more like "now you go south down this street, then you west…" I checked for my compass, but found it unavailable so I asked for normal directions. Arrogant easterner I that I was. It took me a while, but I did find it and was only a little late.   
After they were done speaking people got up to leave and broke off into their own little groups. I came up to one woman who seemed to be running the show. Her name was Iris Murphy. She was a widow and a mother of three. She said I was a very interesting young woman and that she hoped to see more of me.   
She took me out to lunch. Good thing too because I ran myself clear out of money. We talked about everything. I even told her what I said to my father and his friends when I was ten. Not dropping names or anything like that of course.   
"That took real guts."   
"That took being a senseless and opinionated child."   
"Good. We need opinionated people." She laughed. "You've got a bit of accent there. Where are from?"   
"Philadelphia and I lived in New York for a while too."   
"So how long have you been on your own like this?"   
"A year or so."   
"That's what we're talking about. A woman can be out on her own and working for herself, but she still doesn't have the rights that her citizenship should give her."   
"Actually I'm unemployed." And destitute.   
"Well where do you live?"   
"Chicago?"   
"Where do you sleep?"   
"The train station."   
"Oh no. Listen, Rose my son Alan owns a candy store not far from here. He always needs an extra hand."   
So I rented out an apartment above the shop, worked there six days a week, and attended the suffrage meetings as often as I could. Alan nearly always let me off work to go to the meetings. He didn't like being left alone in the store for hours, but he didn't want to be scolded by his mother either. And she sometimes did. The poor man was twenty-five, but they usually did get on fine.   
After a while I was bored with helping out. I started to write and make speeches at the podium myself. I became quite good at it. I was an on and off actress and well educated so it came easily to me. Everyone figured I was just very intelligent. I didn't bother to tell anyone of my years of fine schooling.   
In October I went with Iris to Washington D.C. She brought her people to meet with women who lived near the capitol. Unfortunately, we didn't get much done. It was actually quite boring. We left after a few weeks. I was beginning to feel tired about everything. I was desperately homesick. I knew if I went back I'd never want to leave. I should not have done that. Now any place that wasn't home I couldn't stay. If Jack had been with me it would have been a different story. I missed him more than I missed Philly.   
On the last day I was walking with Iris past Capitol Hill.   
"I really don't know what I'm doing here." I told her.   
"Whatever do you mean?"   
"I mean I'm just some kid that can write. I'm truly horrible with politics."   
"No you're not. You get your point across. That's what we need. You can't let a few failures get you down."   
"I know. I understand."   
"Now what was that all about? Are you afraid of the law?" Sometimes peaceful demonstrations got out of hand. Iris had been arested years before. The first time I was locked up it was for only a few days, but I was a first offender and they had little evidence against me. The second for alledgedly disturbing the peace I was locked up for two weeks before they released me.   
"Honestly,…I'm homesick. Very homesick."   
"Then go home. I'm sure your family misses you."   
"I'm sure they do…They're dead. That's why I left." Best to detail the lie and make it more convincing. "I only have no there, but I can't stay in Chicago anymore."   
"Very well then."   
"…Really?"   
"If that's what you want I can't stop you."   
"Thank you, really."   
"Come along then. We've got a train to catch." She started humming "Hello My Baby" to herself. I started humming with her and she smiled at me.   
"Come Iris, let's sing it. Loud enough for them hear!" I pointed to the Capitol building. "Make them listen for a change!"   
So we sang loud and true the ridiculous little tune. "Hello my baby! Hello my honey! Hello my ragtime gal! Send me a kiss by wire…Baby m'heart's on fire! If you refuse me honey, you'll lose me…Then you'll be left alone so baby telephone and tell me I'm your own!"   
  
The next week I sent out a short story I'd written to two newspapers. One was the Chicago Tribune. The other was the Philadelphia Inquirer. (I still remembered the address.) This particular story was about a wealthy, powerful man and his dysfunctional relationship with his father. It takes place after the father's death and the son finally gets to inherit his father's money and take over the company. I used all of what I knew of Cal's relationship with Nathan as a reference. Now you see why I gave a copy to the folks back home. Of course I changed the names and dates and other small things.   
I never got anything back from the Tribune, but the Inquirer sent back a check and letter stated that "Pittsburgh" by Rose Dawson would soon appear in their paper. It was less for revenge than it was a way of telling my mother that I was still alive. I just hoped and prayed she happened to read it.   
  
After New Year's I left with a train ticket to El Paso. I wanted to check out things down by the border. Iris didn't say anything about my leaving, but she seem did hurt and disappointed. I didn't mean to, but I had to get out.   
The train to Texas was the longest one I'd ever been on. It was snowing out when I left Chicago. It was hot and dry by the time we got to El Paso.   
That night I roomed above a tavern. I was tired so I tried to sleep, but it was the nosiest, seediest dump I'd ever been in. So after a while at about midnight I went back down to the bar to join the party. It was so full of smoke I couldn't see a damned thing. I decided to have a drink and then go back to bed.   
Some drunk started to give me a bit of trouble. I just waved him off at first. Then he started to get a feisty after I moved to the other end of the bar.   
"That's rude ya knows."   
I was too tired to deal with this. "Get off me." He started rubbing my shoulder and then moved down to my waist. "God, damn you stop!" He kissed me on the cheek. "That's it cowboy I'm going back up to my room." I got up. He yanked my arm and pulled me to him.   
"Don't you wants to dance?" I was sick of answering him so I just pulled myself away. His grip was a little stronger than I expected. "I asked you a question dammit you little whore!" I spit in his eye and punched him in the face. He fell over taking a chair with him. His nose and mouth both started to bleed heavily.   
"Keep your damn hands to yourself you lousy bastard!"   
I tipped the bartender. "Sorry about the mess."   
The drunk got back up and launched himself at me. I moved out of the way and he knocked over some other angry drunk and a fight ensued. It went on for close to an hour before most of men had been thrown out or passed out or left. I stayed and watched the fight considering it was half my fault. I shouldn't just go hide in my room.   
I was about to go up to my room after I apologized to the bartender about the real mess I had made when a young man stopped me. He was from the other side of border, but his English was excellent. And he was strikingly handsome.   
"Manuel Sanchez. I was quite impressed."   
"Rose Dawson." We shook hands.   
"You knocked the hell out of him one punch. I've never seen a lady do that. Except my for little sister, but she's no lady."   
"She isn't?"   
"She once licked a boy twice her age back in Veracruz."   
"Are you from there?"   
"Yes, but we live in New Mexico now. With all the Federales and Villistas wandering around it's not safe."   
"Oh, New Mexico. That sounds great. How do you like out there?"   
"Why? Are you thinking about going there?"   
"Of course. I've no reason to stay here."   
"We live in the scenic paradise of Columbus. It's quite close to the Mexican border."   
"Scenic paradise?"   
"I'm sorry, it's a little less scenic paradise and a little more like desolate shit hole, pardon my French…"   
"It's alright, I 'knock the hell out of guys' remember? Swearing doesn't offend me in the least."   
"Well, I'm leaving for it tomorrow."   
"Oh,…I have a sort of strange request…"   
"You're welcome to join me, Miss Dawson. My sister runs the Saloon and we rent out to boarders if you want to stay with us."   
"Thank you. Thank you so much! And it's Rose, please."   
"Meet you out here at seven then? If that's alright with you."   
"Sure. Sure it is." After he left I sat back. *That was fast.*   
This was crazy. I knew him for two minutes and I was going to get on train with him. Could I trust him? Would he rob me or take advantage of me? Why did I trust him at all? This might not be another Jack or Alice. Well, I'd find out in the morning for sure.   
  
When I was waiting Manuel the next morning I realized I was without a ticket.   
"Oh no!"   
"What?"   
"Are there any more tickets available?"   
"Who knows…"   
"Well, how am I supposed to get on the train?"   
"Don't worry I don't have a ticket either"   
"WHAT?"   
"Calm down. I do this all the time. We just sneak onto the cargo compartments."   
"Christ." I said under my breath.   
"No it's okay. I've never been caught."   
"Let's go buy our tickets now."   
"I don't have any money. I spent it all last night and forgot to get them."   
"Then I'll buy them." I sighed heavily.   
"I don't want you to waste your money on me."   
"I like you Manuel, but shut up and let me buy the God damn tickets." That was the catch I guess.   
Luckily there were tickets available going to Columbus. With a population of 400 there was not much traffic going in or out of town.   
We sat down in a booth. He put in his hands behind his head and immediately relaxed.   
"Nice, huh?" I said.   
"What's nice?"   
"Seats as opposed to crates and dirty floors."   
"Now look what you've done. I'm going to be paying for everything now."   
"Well, you see that's the idea. We don't want to cheat the nice folks at the railroad company out of their money do we?"   
"What did the nice folks at the railroad company ever do for us?" I just leaned back and ignored him. "Well?"   
"Shut up, Manuel." I went to sleep. 


	4. Columbus

I awoke on and off during our short trip, but the rhythmic whirring of the train relaxed me and hummed me back to sleep. Manuel was unconscious in the seat across from me the whole time as far as my knowledge. He looked as relaxed and as peaceful as ever, but the position he was in looked damned uncomfortable. His head rested on his arm with his elbow pressed down and his arms sprawled across the table. His body was also contorted.  
When I did wake up completely we were approaching Columbus. Manuel woke up several minutes later.   
"How the hell do you sleep like that?"  
"Like what?"  
"Like rigor mortus has just set in."  
We both laughed. "You're not as mean as you think you are Dawson."  
"How am I mean?"  
"Let me think. 'Shut up and let me buy the God damn tickets.' 'You sleep like rigor mortus has just set in.' You beat the living hell out that poor moron in El Paso."  
"Hey hey hey, that was justified. Self defense."  
"I know, but I needed just one more accusation."  
"I know too, but I don't yield to the thoughtless lusts of drunks. Women are constant targets. It's men who are at fault for their sexual crimes. Apparently I was a 'little whore' for the simple fact that I was a girl in a bar. What is it with men that they can't control themselves? I've been drunk out of my mind before to but somehow I managed not bother anybody else with it. I'm not going to allow myself to be victimized just because I'm a woman."  
"I didn't say anything. I've never done anything like that. I love women."  
"I would suspect you do."  
"You know what I mean. But I agree with you."  
"Want to know what I was doing before this?"  
"What were you doing?"  
"I was with the suffragettes. Living in Chicago actually. Before that I was an actress in New York."  
"That's impressive. Suffragettes. I wish I had that kind of ambition."  
"Thank you. It's nice to hear that coming from a man."  
The train came to a halt. We grabbed our things and got off the train. I was in the my new home. A scenic shithole. A desolate paradise. Which ever you prefer.  
I was still excited. It was hot and dry, but it was still a gorgeous sunny day and I could feel the warmth all over my skin.   
I followed him towards the local saloon and home. Manuel stretched out his arms towards the town. "Bienvenido a paraíso de mierda."  
"Is it just you and your sister?" I asked still laughing.  
"No, we've got two other boarders they work in the establishment too. Sammy and Bookie. Sammy's a Navajo from around here and Bookie's from England."  
"Bookie?"  
"Gabriel Book…Rose, may I ask you a question?"  
"Of course."  
"You're a suffragette, an actress, you're a girl on her own. How old are you?"  
"I'll be nineteen this February."  
"Cristo, barely nineteen."  
"Well how old are you?"  
"Twenty. But I'm a child at heart."  
"Why are you so amazed at me being nineteen? You're not so old yourself. You couldn't have expected me to be so old?"  
Then a loud voice called to us. "Hey Manny!" A woman about my age. "You were supposed to be back yesterday."   
Manuel shouted back. "No you told to be back yesterday. I never told you I would."  
We came closer. She really looked annoyed. "You don't have to be such a jackass about it all the time."  
"Watch your language."   
"Oh please. Spare me." She sighed. "Burro, aren't you going to introduce me to your new friend?"  
"This is Rose Dawson. She'll be another boarder and work with us. Rose, this is my sister, Maria."  
Maria Sanchez was a year my junior and practically in charge of her own business. She looked very much like her older brother, but was almost nothing like him. Manuel, although a little flighty, was pleasantly casual. Maria was for the most part friendly, but she had a fuse shorter than most drill sergeants. She was high strung to say the least.  
She raised her eyebrows suspiciously. "You're not Manny's new girl are you?"  
I was a little stunned by the question. "No, we just traveled together. I had no place to go and he invited to come here. I don't mean to be any inconvenience. I will work though and I can pay rent."  
"Right then I like you already." She grabbed my hand and pulled me inside. Sammy, Bookie, this is Rose Dawson. She'll be with us now. Rose, Samuel Torlino and Gabriel Book."  
Sammy and Bookie stepped out from behind the counter. Sammy was tall and thin and had long black hair down a few inches past his shoulders. Bookie was several inches shorter than I was and had wild blond curls. They were both about thirty.   
They both gave cheery hellos. Maria led me upstairs.   
"Okay," said Maria, "On the left end of the hall we have the little boys' bedroom. Right in front of us, the washroom, directly to our right we the extraneous we-don't-really-know-what-to-do-with room. We just use it for storage and it has a desk, an extra bed, and some chairs in it. And down the hall all the way at the right we have our room. Or as I call it: The Queen's Quarters."  
"Very nice."   
She showed me in. "That's my bed and you can take the other. And you can use that bureau over there." She offered to help me unpack, but she was called downstairs. She apologized and excused herself.   
I was left alone in the room. It smelled like coffee for whatever reason. Maybe it was from Maria. She seemed like a potential caffeine addict from the way she dashed and zipped around.   
I unpacked by myself. Making sure to stuff my old dress, Cal's old jacket and the necklace in a back corner and cover them up with my other clothes. Before in put it in the drawer, I took the old crinkled money from the coat. I hadn't touched it for nearly two years out of foolish pride. Even though I would have a way of making a living again I'd decided that if an emergency came and I needed it I would use it.   
Using the money would not be shameless. Even if I did consider it dirty money I would use it if I or any of my friends should need it. It was time to be logical about it and grow up a little.   
I had come this far. I didn't need to prove anything to myself.   
Later Maria came back up to bring me downstairs. It was near dinnertime, but there were only a few patrons in the restaurant.   
Business was slow as usual and they said I could officially start work tomorrow. Maria and Sammy were the only ones who really knew what they were doing in the kitchen so they mainly cooked and the rest just followed their orders.  
For now I could just hang around and talk with my new housemates. After we each gave our abbreviated life stories (of course mine was extremely abbreviated) I went to the little player piano in the corner and tried it out.   
After all the customers left I took requests from the other four while they told me about Columbus. There wasn't much there. Besides the railroad station and the streets and buildings surrounding our little establishment there were two hotels, some adobe houses, and the 13th US cavalry had its headquarters there. They joked and said the horses outnumbered the people.   
We had a late dinner. Mostly leftovers from the kitchen. I had known them for hours only, but they felt like old friends. A bunch of other vagrants with no place to belong to. A Navajo Indian that refused to be kept on a reservation, a Mexican family forced to leave their home, a poor Londoner whose wife had kicked him out, and me, a single white girl with no family.  
Then they tricked me into drinking the rest of the hot sauce claiming it was mild. I thought my throat had been torched, my eyes watered, I could barely breathe. I slammed my fist on the table in distress. I was about to grab a glass of water when someone tossed me a slice of bread and told me to eat it. I did and then a grabbed the water.  
"The water only helps for a few seconds, the bread absorbs it." Sammy pointed out matter-of-factly.   
I looked at them while I was recovering from my brush with Maria's flaming hot sauce. Now they were the ones who couldn't breathe. They were doubled over laughing.  
"Bastards."   
We went to bed after that. Maria and I stayed up talking until we both fell asleep.  
  
The next morning everyone was up and bustling and getting ready for the day. It reminded me of New York City. Everyone was always on the move and purposeful.  
I was awoken by a loud "Buenas días Chiquita!"   
Maria and Sammy made everyone breakfast and then we got to work. I helped set up the kitchen and waited tables. The work wasn't very hectic. We rarely had more than four tables filled at once except for Friday and Saturday nights and holidays. Then it was absolute madness.  
My first day at work was fun but uneventful. It was now Thursday night and they warned me about the weekends.  
"It's absolutely crazy." Said Bookie. "Drunks, military men, drunk military men."  
"Loud and lively, like a bottle of hot sauce." Sammy laughed. I frowned. "You drank the whole thing one gulp!"  
Manny started doing an impression of me. Eyes bulging, slamming his fist on the table, and flailing.  
"Very funny."  
"Well we thought it was." He added.  
"From now on I refuse to eat anything you people give before it's properly tested."  
Maria waved the new batch in front of me. I tried to feign anger again, but I burst out laughing myself.  
Friday night rolled around. And they were right. It was crazy.  
I ran around in a frenzy trying to get everything straight and running smoothly. Maria was shouted and giving orders as if in an emergency.  
Between orders I got hold of Manuel. "This is worse than that place in El Paso."  
I shouted over the noise.  
"I know. Isn't it great?"  
"I love it!" Although it was full a loud drunks and smoke it was a friendly, upbeat atmosphere.   
That night everyone else was completely exhausted so Manny and I cleaned up.  
"Look at this place." I said.  
"It'll be like this tomorrow night too…So I see you're surviving."  
"As long as I stay out of the way of you people and your dirty tricks."  
"It's regular occurrence here. Better watch your back."  
"Dangerous place this is." We both laughed. The room was very still. The others had gone upstairs. It was well into the wee hours of the morning by the time we finished.   
"I think we're done." He said. "Let's go to bed." I carried the broom back past the kitchen into the back storage room. After I closed the door I lost my balance. Manuel caught me. "You're a bit tipsy."  
"I'm fine." I regained my balance and stood up.  
"I don't know. If you're drunk you might not be able to control yourself and you might take advantage of me." I laughed at him. "Innocent, young Mexican boys are often victimized and corrupted by dangerous American women." We both broke down laughing. Someone banged on the floor above us. He forgot to mention how well sound carried in the building. We were right under Sammy and Bookie.  
"Bloody hell." Someone grumbled from upstairs. We laughed more trying to suppress the loudness.   
We fell to the floor again. "I think you're a bit tipsy too." He just lay there clasping his mouth shut, his face bright red. "Manny?" I poked him. He chuckled again.  
"Get up. We have to go to bed."   
Then he flashed me a strange smile. I'd seen that kind of smile before. Then it occurred to me. I hadn't so much as touched a man since Jack. Save for Hans Strauss, my Hamlet, but those were stage kisses and they were just a few hard kisses on the face during one of his mad scenes. Hans was a contortionist from Germany. (In case you care to know.)  
Still, I did love Jack with the same passion I did two years ago, but he was never coming back. He was gone. He had moved on to something else and it was time I did the same.  
I pulled Manny up by the shirt collar and kissed him.  
He clasped his hands around my cheeks and pulled me back down towards him. Manny, although a decent man, could be a little less than truthful at times and irresponsible for that matter, but this was the first time I'd ever felt he was being truly honest.   
  
Nothing else happened between us that night. We went to our separate beds a few minutes later. The next day things were awkward with him, but pleasantly so. We winked at each other when we thought no one was looking.  
Saturday night was just as crazy as Friday. And after all of the customers left Manuel and I offered to clean up every night and give Maria, Sammy, and Bookie a break. Even Maria, our resident workaholic was quick to accept the offer.  
We would kiss and fool around a bit after we finished and then go back upstairs. Such was our routine for several weeks. I started to really fall for him. I woke up every morning waiting to see him. He was tactless and silly, but overall gentle and shy around women. Our meetings were conducted as if we were schoolchildren playing kiss tag.   
My birthday came and went. We had a small party that night for Sammy and myself. I turned nineteen as you would have guessed and Sammy turned twenty-eight.  
That night after we finished our chores I went put the broom in the large storage closet just like I did the night before.   
"Maybe it's a bit late to tell you this, but I've had a little crush on you since about the Wednesday afternoon you first came here." He said. True, I was a little bit in love with him too. I just laughed at him and pull him playfully into the closet. The door shut behind us. It was pitch black inside.  
I searched for his face in the dark. The kiss last night had awakened the feelings that only came naturally to me.  
I pulled his face to mine crushing our lips together. Then I pulled us down to the floor clumsily trying to avoid the equipment and boxes of preserved food.   
He pulled away from me after a few moments. "Are you sure you want to do this?"  
"Yes. Are you?"  
"Do I want to and do I think I should are two different subjects. I know we're both pretty young and well, not married and I don't want to get you into any sort of trouble."  
Back then pre-marital sex was generally not accepted, not that it didn't happen, and we might be forced to be together for long time if any "trouble" should arise.   
I looked him right in the eye. "Have you ever done this before?"  
He bowed his head and looked almost ashamed. He came from a very traditional family. "Only with one other person. You?"  
"Once."   
  
Cal decided on our first night onboard Titanic that he couldn't wait until May. We were going to be married anyway. There wouldn't be any problem. I knew that that time would come eventually, but I still dreaded it.   
He came to my quarters that night and after a few brandies he came to the decision that a few stolen kisses now and then were just not enough. I was tired and very ready for sleep, but I didn't argue with him.  
Things had gotten rather far when my mother knocked on the door; she wanted to bid me goodnight. She interrupted us before we made it all the way. We had been arguing constantly for the past few weeks, but I had never been so happy to see her.  
Cal quickly dressed and let Mother in. I was only able to dress halfway, but it didn't matter for I was under the covers.  
When she came in it looked like he had just tucked me in. The sight absolutely melted her heart. She kissed me goodnight and left; Cal followed disappointed and unsatisfied.  
I felt like I had been assaulted. Despite that fact that I was still palpitating I felt awful, shaky and used. I reminded myself that I was marrying him and this would happen every night the only difference being my mother wouldn't be saving me. I cried myself to sleep that night.  
  
Manuel looked at me rather seriously. "You are sure then."  
"Yes."   
"Rose." He said softly.  
"Yes?" He kissed me again and I slid back down under him.  
  
I woke up the next morning in his arms. It was the first I had spent the night with someone. I wondered why he was so shy around women. From my experience that night I gathered he didn't need to be.  
We were wrapped in an old dusty blanket that had been in there for years. I groped for my underclothes and blouse and put them on. I opened the door. Dawn.  
"Manny? Manny wake up." I whispered.   
"Hmmm?"  
"It's first light. We should go back up upstairs now." I indicated the incoming sunlight.   
"What?" He was still a little groggy.  
"Tenemos problemas, Manuel." I had been picking up a lot of Spanish.  
"Mierda!" The fact that it was morning was finally registering with him. He got up quickly. I grabbed my skirt, shoes, and whatever other piece of clothing I could find, and his hand pulling him out of the room.   
He was about to dart through the kitchen when I stopped him. I looked down and cleared my throat. Realizing he was completely naked he ran back into the closet for his clothes. We ran scurried out of the kitchen as Manny pulled his pants up.   
No one was awake. The coast was clear. We crept up the stairs to our respective beds. It was five o'clock and the house would be up soon. Breakfast started at six.   
Maria was asleep too. I had never seen her sound asleep before. She was always in bed after me and up before, she never napped or even relaxed.  
I slipped into my bed and fell asleep again after several minutes. First I stared at the sleeping Maria for a while. It was a rare sight. I didn't want to miss it.  
  
Several minutes later Maria shot out of bed and started waking the house. She tugged on my foot and told me it was 5:15 and time to get up. I grumbled and fell back asleep.   
She came back in at least four times after that telling me to get up. When I heard that everyone else, including Manny, was downstairs, I pulled myself out of bed and meandered to the kitchen.  
Maria and Sammy were heating up the stoves and getting everything out for the day. Manuel was doubled over on the counter; obviously exhausted. Bookie was nowhere in sight.  
I started for the big closet to find my apron. Bookie met me at the door and placed my apron and my pantyhose in hands.  
"Missed something." He looked at Manuel and winked at me.  
"Wonderful."  
"Keep your knickers on girl. I haven't told anybody else."  
"Oh thank you. I appreciate your charity." I put on my apron and stuffed the hose in the front pouch.  
"What's with the bitter sarcasm?"  
"It's not bitter. It's regular sarcasm…keep your knickers on." I mimicked him.   
"Alright then…but just as a warning the others will find out eventually. There's never been a secret older than a few days in this house. We've been suspecting anyway. And Manny's decent boy and it's good to know he found himself a nice girl."  
"Fine then, but it would be much appreciated if you didn't speak about it loud enough for the whole world to listen!"   
"I'm not trying to! Just go put your under things back upstairs and cool off. Everyone probably heard you two anyway, but it's no big deal."  
"This kind of thing is always a big deal for me. And don't tell me what to do."  
"So you plan on carrying around the evidence in your apron all day?"  
"Oh shut up Gabe!"   
Maria called from the kitchen. "Manny wake up! We need you in here!"  
"I've never seen anyone so cranky after a good night's fuck! Bleeding Christ!"  
The noise halted in the kitchen and Manny's head popped up.   
Maria and Sammy peered out. "So that's what that was." Sammy thought aloud.  
"Manuel could you not mess around in the God damn storage closet. Food goes in there. Cristo!" She turned to me. "Rose I thought you had had better taste. Don't worry. Manny's not all bad."  
To my surprise, everyone started laughing: including me. I was now on the outer rim of society. Everyone and everything was accepted and expected. I was with people that didn't disrupt life over minor incidents or new relationships between people. Take for example love and sex. It happens all the time, and it happened between Manuel and me and without it nobody would even exist.   
  
Months went by and I was able to keep things up with Manuel, but we didn't have to hide in the storage closet anymore, but that's not to say we didn't. We moved into the extra room upstairs.   
Business was good, but not crazy. I had a new boyfriend that made me happy and vice versa. Everyone was getting along well. Things were pleasant, but never calm. Nothing was calm with Maria Sanchez around, but we loved her all the same.  
Around mid-July I caught a stomach flu of some sort or another. When I became very ill we decided to have Manny temporarily move back in with the boys and I had the room all to myself. Nobody wanted to get sick, but they all took turns checking on me and taking care of me.  
I always detested being sick: feeling awful, being incapacitated and weak, inconveniencing everyone else. I hated it. I'd always find some reason to protest not being allowed to work. I sounded like a raving fool sometimes. I swear it was the Henry in me coming out.  
Towards the end of the month I started to feel a little better. One morning I woke up and was well enough to come downstairs for breakfast. Manuel and I decided he could move back in with me. After breakfast I went back upstairs to sleep.  
Those months between February and July had been peaceful for me. Although I never forgot it, my past had not been plaguing me. That morning I dreamt about Jack again. The two of us making love. The two of us interlocked: pounding, pulsating, and shaking so violently to make the whole world go away. Everything but us did not exist. Not the great Titanic, not those trying to tear us apart, not the world. It was just the two of us safe inside the sweet oblivion we had created. I lived the experience once more; every blissful moment of it.  
We screamed and gasped the other's name. Then there was more yelling coming from below. But how?  
I believe the conversation started like this…  
"I told you so. Things are not looking good in Europe." No customers were around, Manny and Bookie were washing dishes and Maria and Sammy were taking a break and were out in the dining area. Maria was reading the headlines.  
"What now?"  
"Austria-Hungary has officially declared war on Serbia and it looks like France and Russia and Germany will do the same."  
"Well that's what happens when you go around sticking bullets in archdukes and what not."  
"Well I not taking my next vacation in Sarajevo that's for sure."  
"Good for you. Do think we'll go to war?"  
"Why? We're not Europe."  
"So this thing is spreading. We're allies with some of these countries and you never know with Mexico. Things are not looking good here either."  
"What about Mexico?"  
"I'm not saying YOU'RE going to start shooting Americans or anything. I'm talking about Carranza and those people."  
"I'm not angry at you for pointing out Mexico as a possible enemy."  
"Alright then! And aren't you Puerto Rican anyway?"  
"Hey I've lived here for years now. America is my home. And no, Manny was born Puerto Rico; I was born in Mexico. Our parents got out of there before the war. I don't think Manny even remembers Puerto Rico."   
"But technically you're not an American citizen anyway."  
"So? Technically you may be an American citizen, but you know you're sure as hell not treated like one!"  
"Despite what anybody has to say I am more American than anybody here!" That's the first thing I heard when I awoke. As I was readjusting to the real world surrounding me the argument continued. I tried to fall back to sleep, but the hammering of voices kept me awake. "You, Manny and Bookie aren't even citizens and Rose's ancestors have only been for a hundred years or so. Mine have been here for thousands."  
"I'm not talking about who lived on the land. I'm talking about the American government. Not set up by your people."  
I hobbled down the stairs and stopped half way when I saw the two of them.   
"What in the hell is going on here?!"  
They turned around staring in silence. Now that they had stopped yelling they weren't sure what to do next. Bookie and Manny had just emerged from the kitchen. Manny came over to me, making sure I kept my balance on the stairs. I was still quite weak. I gripped his arm.  
"From what I gather. Sam's revoked his citizenship and Maria's planning to invade." Bookie said pondering. "But I missed some parts of their little dialogue so I could be mistaken."  
"Ya think?" I snapped. "Are we in Europe right now? Is anyone currently pillaging our cities? Has the President Wilson been assassinated? I don't think so!" I calmed down and composed myself. And then I proceeded to unease the living shit out of my friends by showing them a side of me they'd never seen before. When I am extremely angry I never yell or scream. I speak in a very calm, cool and reportedly eerie manner. I can't describe it and no one else can either. It's something I inherited from both my mother and father. "I'm very sorry for the mess overseas, but this is not cause for anyone here to go tearing at each other's throats. So any heated, and not to mention loud political debates are not necessary. I'm sick and I just want to sleep in peace."  
I turned away to march upstairs. After three or four steps I lost my balance and stumbled, but no one downstairs saw it. Manny helped me up and led me back to the bedroom. He helped me back into bed and instead of giving me a kiss on the forehead and leaving as was his routine, he climbed into bed with me.   
"What are you doing?"  
"Staying here with you." He pulled the covers over the both of us and wrapped his arms around me.  
"I'm sick and they'll be looking for you."  
"If they know I'm in here with you they'll be too afraid to come in. You're very scary when you're mad."  
"Then why are still here with me?"  
"You're not mad at me. And even mad wild beasts need comfort."  
"I'm a mad wild beast?"  
"A very beautiful one." He leaned over and kissed my cheek and shifted back to his original position. I thought about the dream I had. I felt guilty. I felt as if I was betraying one of them. Two wonderful men that loved me. But which one? But the truth was there was no such betrayal. There is no crime in loving another person. There is no wrong way to feel. I knew it then, but I hadn't come to truly recognize it yet. 


	5. Columbus

It was a lazy and dull afternoon in Columbus. The usual patrons came and went. I was left to do the sad task of cleaning up the Christmas tree. It was not the kind of Christmas tree I was used to. It was a cactus decorated with old jewelry and popcorn, but we had eaten the popcorn by then. Plus it was early February and it was time. Still, I would miss it.   
I took it outside and dumped it in the back. Things were quiet in the house. Bookie had been seeing a local girl named Jesse and was out with her, Sammy was taking a bath, Manny was outside taking a nap on the back porch, and I had no idea where Maria was. I thought of poking around the beat up model-T Bookie had just bought. It cost next to nothing because it wouldn't even run. He spent most of his leisure time thinking up schemes to get money for parts.  
I snuck back inside careful not to wake Manny. Out of boredom I went back inside in search of Maria.  
"MANUEL!!!" Maria. Manny fell off the hammock.   
"What the hell?!" He staggered to his feet.  
Maria poked her head out of her bedroom window. "Have you seen the washboard?"  
"No!"  
"Nevermind."  
I ran outside. "I really hate her sometimes." He moaned. I sighed and helped him up.  
"Rose? Rose? Alo Rosa?" Maria was calling for me now.  
"What?" I looked up at the window searching for her. She popped her head out. "Have you seen the washboard?"  
"No. Could you yell a little louder? I don't think they heard you in Europe." She had become an amateur political analyst and was obsessing and pondering over the war.  
"Arg!" She threw her hands up and walked out of sight.  
Manny and I flopped back down on the hammock to take a nap. Several moments later there was a loud and desperate banging on the front door. We let Maria get it.  
Maria hurried downstairs and completely forgot any business with the washboard. She opened the door to reveal and disheveled young woman in a wedding dress.  
  
Mary McBride came from a large Irish-Catholic family in New York. She was the youngest of nine: Timmy, Tommy, Mickey, Bobby, Johnny, Billy, Jimmy, Danny, and then there was little Mary. Her parents, Minnie and Walt, were immigrants and they owned and lived above a small grocery store in Manhattan.  
She was only eighteen when we found her, but she was quite mature and always a voice of reason and logic.  
Due to their poverty the McBrides set up their only daughter with a distant relative of Minnie's, another immigrant whose father had managed to make it big in the hotel business in Santa Fe. It was not an arranged marriage in a manner of speaking; Mary did agree to it of her own free will. She grew to like her fiancé Jake Clancy, but could never quite picture him as a husband. He was in his late thirties, a little too old for a girl of eighteen by Mary's practical standards. But at least she had found someone respectable.   
Less than a month after being engaged to Jake she fell in love with someone else: a young police inspector that went by the name George Calvert. She was to leave for Santa Fe in only a few weeks when the family store was robbed. It was not devastating to business; mostly broken glass and missing bags of rice and flour. They never found the culprits, but Inspector Calvert did made a few visits to the store before the case was dismissed.   
Mary came by the station one day to thank him. She didn't intend to go back anymore, but Emily, her best friend, convinced her to go back. Mary always complained of her friend's ability to "read people like open books." So on Emily's orders and her pleasure she came by to visit George everyday. Emily knew that Mary was smitten over George and she disliked Jake in the first place. Jake was going take Mary away and he disapproved of Emily's awful mouth. At the tender age of fifteen, she talked like an old whore. Emily was persistent that Mary leave Jake for George. She had grown to like George as an older brother figure and knew well enough that logic had very little to do with love. She wanted to see her friends happy.  
Emily made one last plea on the morning Mary was to leave for Santa Fe with Jake. She wasn't going to let this happen and she full well intended to keep Mary in New York. Many times they had skipped up and down dirty Manhattan streets linking arms and bouncing in unison, but today was not one of those days. In truth, those days were as good as over. The streets seemed oddly quiet and dreary.   
"Em, I marrying Jake."  
"The man has an awful birth defect."  
"No he doesn't."  
"Yes he does. Born without a personality."  
"You just don't like him because he doesn't like you."  
"One, you know love George and he loves you, two, and three, what did I ever do to him?"  
"Maybe watching a little girl use the word 'fuck' three times in one sentence because the Giants lost might shock someone."  
"And four, he doesn't like baseball. And I'm not a little girl."  
"You're fifteen."  
"Sixteen in July."  
"You're impossible. Why can't you just let it go?"  
"He won't even marry you in front of your family. You never even met the man who's giving you away. Remember how you used to say we'd be each other's maids of honor? Now you'll let his stupid stepsister take my place?"  
"So it's all about you then."  
"If you were marrying someone like George you wouldn't be so cranky."  
"You're making me cranky. Besides, George is a cynic."  
"George has a sarcastic sense of humor. Thank God he has one. And you know what? You're right Mare, you're not cranky. You're bitchy. Have a nice life sourpuss!" She kicked the ground and started to walk off.  
"Emily!"  
Emily spun around. "And he's more than twice your age. He'll die when you're only in your forties and you'll be one of those embittered old widows with cats. Lots of cats. Here's your wedding present from me to the happy couple." She shoved a crumpled up piece of paper in Mary's hand.  
Mary unfolded the drawing. It was an unpleasant cartoonish portrayal of Jake. Emily often used her artistic talent for evil rather than good. Although it was a silly caricature, something about it screamed Jake Clancy. It made him out to be a silly, content looking fool, but she had captured something about his person. The little personality Jake possessed was brought to life in that picture, even if it was a little distorted.   
"What the hell is this?"  
"I told you. It's present, Cat Lady."  
"Well, thank you, I'll be sure to hang it in my new home."  
"You're diggin' your own grave McBride, diggin' your own grave."  
"And I like cats!" She shouted to her friend who was now walking in the opposite direction.   
She tried not to be too critical with Emily, she had just lost her mother the past summer and she had been separated from her family before. She was obsessive about not losing people and keeping in touch. But she was right. She did love George and Jake was boring and would make her tired and frustrated.   
Her last night in New York she went to see George again. He had been working late and was still in his crammed little office. She told him she was leaving for New Mexico and would not be back for a long time. After hours of talking about nothing she finally realized the time.   
"Damn!"  
"What Emily?" George teased.  
"Very funny."  
"What is it?"  
"It's midnight. I'll have to sneak back in."  
"You're eighteen years-old and almost a married woman. I don't think you have worrying about sneaking past mom and dad anymore."  
"You're twenty-five and you're always worried about what your parents think."  
"But I don't have to sneak in through the back window."  
"You have a place of your own…I'll never have a place of my own."  
George paused for a moment. He wasn't sure how to respond to that last comment. "How come you're so unhappy? Don't you want to get married?" He got up from his desk and walked over to Mary.  
"Yes…no…I don't know. No, not to Jake."  
"Then don't. You're legally an adult and it is the twentieth century." He leaned against the desk with his arms folded, copying her.   
"He's not just some inanimate object I can take or leave."  
"I'm not sure. I'm starting to agree with Em."  
"Everyone's a human being and you know it."  
"You're unhappy."  
"I have an obligation to fulfill and I can't just drop it because it's not perfect or because I don't want to leave."  
"An obligation that's going to result in two very miserable people and possibly more."  
"Who is 'more'?"  
"What?…oh, you know, children, your family, your friends."  
"You're making this very hard."  
"I'm simplifying it."   
Mary exhaled hard and slouched back down. George dropped to her level. "You know, Emily's actually right. Crazy as she might seem."  
"I know, and I know her better than you do. She picks up on things people think know one can see." *You know you love George and he loves you.* "But she uses this intuition, or whatever you want to call it, without any discretion. It's driving me mad."  
"The kid's blunt, but she knows what she's talking about."  
"You're making this hard again."  
"I'm making it very clear."   
"No you're not you're--" George couldn't help himself any longer. He kissed her. Mary kissed back as if there no tomorrow, and there wouldn't be: not for New York, not for her family, her friends, Emily, or George…  
After what seemed like forever she broke the kiss, but forever was still not enough. For once in her life she was infinitely sure of something. Something she couldn't have. It would only hurt the both of them more if they dragged it out any longer.  
"Stay." She wanted to. She almost said nothing and just obeyed, but she took the route of 'good sense.'  
"I'm so sorry George." She pressed their foreheads together and stroked the back of head, playing with his hair. "You know I can't." She pulled away and disappeared behind the door without another word.  
  
The next day she left on a train with Jake and headed for Santa Fe. Her family could not afford more than one train ticket and Jake claimed that business was slow and he could not afford the tickets or board for her parents or any others. Mary guessed he was just cheap, as Emily had suggested earlier.  
She left on the train not talking to her fiancé, but only thinking of that one sweet kiss with George as she drifted off to sleep.  
Mary was a New Yorker to the core. Santa Fe did not impress her in the least. But it was going to be her home. *Stay.*   
Everything came full circle on the morning of her wedding. Jake had taken care of everything and was nothing but kind to her. It would be wrong to leave him. The piano started up as she walked down the aisle of the church. She went through intervals of tightening her face and then relaxing it. When she reached the alter she had made her decision. She looked at her groom and he smiled: delighted and pink with pleasure. He would now have a wife. She didn't want to shatter this simple man's outlook on life, but…  
*Look at him. He has no personality. Oh George Emily was right. Oh God I have to admit to Em she was right. Oh well. Take and a deep breath and kiss Santa Fe goodbye. Sorry Jake.*  
She realized she had been lost in thought for sometime when she was jolted back to reality.  
"Do you Mary Margaret Virginia St. Clare McBride take this man, Jacob Clancy to be your lawful wedded husband?" *Cats. Lots of cats.*  
"I can't!" She clapped her mouth shut at the abruptness of her answer. "I'm sorry Jake." *You can think of something better than that Mare!* "We're just not meant to be. I'm much too young for you in both age and mind. I can't do this. I'm not ready." *Liar.* She turned towards the witnesses. "Sorry everyone."  
She crossed herself and turned on her heel and threw her bouquet over head behind her. The priest caught it.   
Mary Margaret Virginia St. Clare McBride burst through the doors and out into the streets.   
She ran three blocks to Jake's hotel and would-be home and grabbed her suitcase and quickly packed it. She had no money of her own and she had no right taking his money since she had just rejected him. *Poor simple fool.*   
Mary decided she would hitchhike to California. George's brother Richard was movie photographer in Los Angeles. She had heard nothing but wonderful things about him. It was worth a shot. She still felt guilty over seeking charity from anyone right now.  
She rode all day and night with several faceless wanderers on the back of trucks and wagons until they stopped in a small border town. Columbus. What a dull place for bone fide Manhattanite to find herself in.   
But it was somewhere, at least for the time being. She arrived at the front porch of the Saloon. The sign in the window read 'Help Wanted. Room and Board.' It was worth a try.  
  
Maria examined the strange young bride. Her pale cheeks flushed from running, her sweet girlish face strained, her fair blond hair matted against her face, and her clear blue eyes pleading. Her white dress was dirty and ragged. The only thing in place was her gold cross around her neck.  
"…Can I help you?"  
"I'm here for the job. Whatever that is."  
"You're hired." Maria said without thinking twice.  
She thought for a moment, stunned. "Really?"   
"Would you be happier if I turned you away?"  
"Ummm…no?"  
"Alright then. Would you come in please?"  
Mary stuck out her hand to shake Maria's. "Mary McBride."  
"Maria Sanchez."   
Later we were all properly acquainted with the young Ms. McBride. Now another loner and outcast in her own right, was apart of our group, even if she wasn't intent on staying very long. She moved in with Maria and gladly handled the craziness of the weekend nights. "Like the City again. Loud and wonderful."  
Everyone grew to love her quickly. She charmed us with her tale of the wedding disaster and other funny New York stories about her family, George, the neighborhood and the awful-mouthed Emily. She was soon a part of the family.  
"But it didn't make any sense. It was crazy what I did." She felt she didn't deserve our kindness.  
I felt as if she was speaking directly to me. As if she needed the justification and absolution that only I could give her. "You were in an unhappy situation and you took yourself out of that. The only illogical part about is that you waited until the last minute to do it. It wasn't crazy, only extreme. Besides life is crazy." *This is crazy.* *I know. It doesn't make any sense…that's why I trust it.* It made perfect sense.  
I knew what it had been like to be in her shoes. I wished sometimes I could have had shared my pain with her. I had known her brother Danny back in the day and was glad to hear he and his friend Isaac were well, and I had met her sweetheart once years before, but I chose not to mention him. As much as I would have liked to share the story about him with her I was still afraid. But alas, she already knew. After her first Saturday night she approached me after clean up. We were in the back. Everyone else was in the dining area.  
"Rose, may I ask you a question?"  
"Of course."  
"I think George knows you. Rose Dawson. He called you 'The Body.' What told me is that he discovered this girl in the streets and…"  
"Yes, it was me."  
"Oh. He said he wasn't sure if you really existed."   
"Funny. Well I'm here and I'm pretty sure I do exist. I don't really remember much of our first meeting. I had a fainting spell and was ill. I was feverish, they had to sedate me. But your George did manage fill me in on what I had said. I must have been really out of it."  
"He said your eyes were so dilated the color was just this then band around your pupils."  
I laughed. "He did save my life. When you see him again tell him Max says thank you."  
"I will." She said in her girlish chuckle. "Oh he said you gave a lot different names. Who was Max?"  
"My dog that died when I was seven."  
"Crazy. Why did you give the name of a Titanic victim?"  
Did she know? "Huh?"  
"He said when you were coming out of it you told him you were Rose DeWitt Bukater. She died a month earlier on the Titanic. He looked it up after you left, but he didn't have any reason for researching it so he left it alone. It was weird though. They said there was no reason she would not have gotten on a lifeboat because her mother and husband or whatever both survived and said she had been missing all night. At least that's what I read. Emily said people suspected she killed herself before the iceberg even hit or that she had been having a scandalous affair for months. Whatever is was, if there was anything they kept it pretty well covered. Oh I don't want judge anybody else. It was just a few articles that popped up every once and a while. I guess it's all just some vague myth." She paused again. She stopped. She must have suspected I was she.  
"Really." It had been nearly three years now. I would have no obligation to anyone now even if it were known that I was alive. Oh but would she have just shut up about it. It hurt. *Should I tell someone?* Dear friends of mine had thought they had known me inside and out. I knew enough about their pasts. Manuel had been hinting at *our* life and not just mine and his. He might be my husband one day. How could I never tell him? As painful as it was, it was a part of me. "I don't know. I must have seen the newspaper before I went out that day. I guess I saw her name somewhere. Who knows?"  
"He could never be sure. He never had a photograph and didn't want to pry the family on what might be false pretenses. A good choice I guess, since you're not her."  
"I suppose." I pulled my glasses off and rubbed my eyes.  
"Are you alright? I'm sorry. I didn't mean to put you on the spot, but ever since I met you I've been dying to know."   
"Oh it's fine. I'm just tired. I better be off to bed." *Yes I'll wash up, undress, and have a nervous breakdown, and then I'll retire for the night.* "Night Mary. See you tomorrow." She paused thinking. "Wherever she is or whatever happened to her, it's not something we have to dwell on."  
"You're right. Sorry. I just think about things like that sometimes. Like I should be able to do something or at least not gossip about it."  
"Well, I'm sure the DeWitt Bukater girl whole-heartedly forgives you."  
"It's not just that. A lot of things. Like Maggie dying, Em's mom. She was a good friend of mine too. She had an awful ear infection. I always thought if my parents paid her more she would have had a better doctor or who knows, but I just stood back and watched her die. And I know that there are so many other people who have nobody to feel for them in any way shape or form. So I say a prayer for them every night before I go to bed, but it never seems like it's enough."  
"I know. I get that too."   
"Sorry, I just had to ask."  
"It's alright. Well, I'm off to bed." I took my vague mythical rear upstairs and went to sleep, or at least I tried. I sat up thinking and reminding myself that I was not living a lie. THIS was who I was.  
  
"I'm going to go blind the end of the day." Maria noted. The three of us, Maria, Mary, and I were sprawled on the roof out towards the sun.  
"Then stop staring at the sun." Mary had a towel over her eyes.  
"What else is there to stare at?"  
"Ah, it doesn't matter it feels nice." I stretched out my arms and yawned.   
It was a lazy Sunday afternoon and we were taking a break while the boys got everything out for lunch. But our little girls' meeting was soon interrupted.  
"A blonde, a red-head, and brunette are sleeping on the roof…" Bookie.  
"Hello Gabriel." I said. He hated being called Gabriel for some reason or another. He didn't mind Gabe so much, but he still preferred to be called Bookie.  
"Don't call me that."  
"If you've got such a nice name like Gabe, why do you insist on being called Bookie?" Mary had only been with us a month and hadn't yet figured out the inner workings of Bookie's sad little mind. In actuality, none of us had, but Mary was still determined.  
"I like Bookie."  
"Bookie's a silly name."  
"I'm a silly man."  
"You mean silly *little* man." Maria always teased him for being short.  
"Quiet you." He paused. "And what are you crazy women doing up here anyway?"  
"Being teenage girls."  
"Well, you're not." He pointed to me.  
"I am until the twenty-fourth, technically."  
"Twenty's still a kid."  
"So if you're a thirty-one year man what are doing up here? This is girls only."  
"I've no place else to go."  
"Mariaaaaaaaaa!" Sammy summoned her downstairs.  
"I'll be right back." She climbed down out of sight. "Bye Gabriel!"  
He grumbled.   
Mary sighed "I can't believe it's February. It should be cold."  
"I know what you mean. I've been here for two years and it still confuses me."  
"Yes, there was no snow on Christmas. It wasn't even cold."  
"Home sweet desert." Bookie laughed.  
"I think I'll miss snow. I don't think I can go back to New York for a while."  
"You should go back sometime." I warned her remembering my own situation.  
"I know I will. It's not my home. It's New York City. It's the greatest city in the world."  
"What about London?"  
"Philadelphia."  
"I've never been to any other big city. This was my first time out of New York."  
"How do you like it?" Bookie asked.  
"'It's one a hell of an experience' as Emily would say."  
Maria came back up. "What is this? The white people's committee meeting? Bookie go back down and help the boys."  
"You three better be down soon too."  
"Whatever you say Gabriel." She saluted him as he hopped down.   
  
It was May and appallingly hot. I needed to change out of my sweaty dress. It was the pale green church dress I wore every Sunday when I lived with Alice. Oh how I missed her! She was the sweet mother I never had. That reminded me that I needed to reply to my last letters from Sally, Isaac, and Iris and Alan.   
Anyway, it was the only clean dress I had left that week, save for my old sash dress. I hadn't worn it in three years. I almost put it on that morning. I didn't want to mess my good Sunday dress. My old dress may have been finer and still intact over the years, but Alice made me that dress. Well, I managed not to spill anything on my dress.  
After the usuals left (well, we really only had usuals) I was still over energized that night. So while Bookie fiddled with the piano I climbed up on the bar and started dancing. Maria and Mary joined me a minute later. Eventually it turned into a little party. Each one of us who could play took turns while the others danced. We sang and danced and cavorted around for an hour in celebration of absolutely nothing.   
After we tired ourselves out we decided to pack it in for the night. Sammy pulled out the day's paper, which went untouched on the front porch all day until Sam pulled it in. "Nobody read this yet. How did no one else mention this to us?"  
Maria sighed. "Barely anybody reads the news in this God forsaken town."  
"How could no one say anything?"  
"We only had twelve people come in here today." Manny seemed to be unconcerned.  
"Well what the hell is it? Were we invaded?" Maria was now on the edge of her.  
"In a manner of speaking. Attacked is more like it. Fucking hell." Maria slouched back. Unlike the rest of us sorry lot, Sammy was always polite. "Lusitania torpedoed by German U-boat off the coast of Ireland. 1200 suspected dead, including over one hundred Americans." He looked directly at Maria. "I think you'll get your war now, Maria."  
"Oh my God. I never thought this would hit so close to home." Mary, the blasé New Yorker, was shocked.  
"Bloody hell." Bookie hadn't talked about the war except to joke every once and a while to say that he stayed in the States to avoid the draft. But he usually kept quiet, he didn't like to here of the troubles hitting his homeland.   
"But isn't that a passenger ship? Why would they sink it?" Manny was surely concerned now. "Why did they kill civilians?"  
Sammy read on. "It says here that it sank in less than twenty minutes, but only one torpedo hit it."  
"Maybe it had weapons on board. Explosives. Maybe it put a bigger hole in it." Maria pondered.   
"It also says they knew of the warnings sent by the Germans saying they would attack if they went into the blockade zone, but they didn't believe it. Wilson wouldn't accept limiting on neutral shipping. So they put out a little travel at your own risk warning and then ignored it."  
"They knew?" I asked calmly at first. *Maintain your composure Rose.* I could hear Mother nagging.   
"About the German threat?" Sammy glanced at the paper once more. "Yes, according to this."  
"Are you telling me that they knew there was a danger, but they just ignored it like it wasn't there?" My voice cracked. *Another ice warning. This one's from the Nordic.*  
"Yes, that seems to be the case, but they didn't just hit the torpedo like that terrible Titanic disaster a few years ago. Someone hunted them down and came after them. It was an attack on innocent civilians, but then again I guess that's what's going on overseas for years now. Now us Americans are just getting a little taste of it."   
"THEY KNEW." *Oh not to worry Miss.* "THEY FUCKING KNEW AND THEY WENT ANYWAY!!" I smashed my beer glass against the wall. The others ducked away from the flying glass. Everything spun around me in a blur. Faces disappeared. "Lives were in danger and they just went so they wouldn't have to deal with the inconvenience of canceling their trip. Bad for fucking business!!! Fucking idiot bastards!" I couldn't breathe, the walls were closing in on me. I ran through the back room out and fell over the stairs landed on my face, knocking over a bucket full of water. It spilled out making the sand surrounding into rays of mud. *This is bad.*  
"FUCK!! FUCK!!!" I screamed. I ripped my hair down and covered my ears to keep out the voices of screaming victims. I scrambled to feet as if I was going to run away the pain. Manny tried to grab me and I fell forward again.   
"Rose!"  
"Oh God. Oh God. No no no. No." It happened before, and not long before, people just let it happen again. History had repeated itself. More people had been destined to suffer that kind of fate. Did they never learn?!   
He stroked my hair and held me up in his lap, but I fell limp. "It's alright. It's over now. It happened far away."  
"No," I said, "It's always with you. Even when you're warm in your bed sleeping. It never goes away. It IS here. Don't you see? Even if it's not happening to you. They died, all those people for no reason and it could have been prevented. Do people never learn?! Fucking bastards. I hate them. They as good as killed just as much as the Germans did. God damn them to hell!" My throat hurt so horribly it was choking me and I could barely speak. I tried to look on him through the tears. The whole house had joined us outside now. Someone a few buildings down yelled at us to keep quiet.  
"Rosie, will you be all right?"  
"Of course I will. We always will be. Everyone will always be all right eventually." After the explosion of emotion minutes earlier I had nothing left now. I had successfully drained myself.  
"Are you ready to go inside?"  
"Yes." I whispered to him barely audible.  
He led me inside past our friends who stared concerned, and not appalled by my outburst. He led me up upstairs to put me to bed. For whatever the reasons they suspected they would let me rest first before they questioned me, if they even intended to do that.  
We were about to turn into our room when I broke away from him and darted into the washroom. It was our only special luxury. The washroom had a bath and toilet. It became rather useful at the moment for everything I had eaten in my entire life came out of me that night.  
I spent the next hour or so vomiting in the toilet. Manuel held my hair back and cleaned my face every few minutes. When I was done he helped my clean my mouth out with baking soda. Mary and Maria helped me undress and get into bed.  
I lay there mesmerized, it was too frightful to believe. That all that horror could happen again and that I allowed myself to curl up in clean clothes under warm, clean sheets. I am reminded of John B. Thayer's quote I heard years later:  
"The whole event passes before me now nineteen hundred and forty, as vividly and with the same clarity, as twenty-eight years ago in nineteen hundred and twelve.  
These were ordinary days, and into them had only gradually the telephone, the talking machine, the automobile. The airplane due to have so soon such a stimulating yet devastating effect on civilization, was only a few years old, and the radio known as today, was still in a scientific laboratory. These days were peaceful and ruled by economic theory and practice built up over years of slow and hardly perceptible change. There was peace, and the world had an even tenor to it's ways.  
True enough, from time to time there were events-catastrophes-like the Johnstown Flood, the San Francisco Earthquake, or floods in China-which stirred the sleeping world, but not enough to keep it from resuming it's slumber. It seems to me that the disaster about to occur was the event, which not only made the world rub it's eyes and awake, bit woke it with a start, keeping it moving at a rapidly accelerating pace ever since, with less and less peace, satisfaction, and happiness.  
Today the individual has to be contented with rapidity of motion, nervous emotion, and economic insecurity. To my mind the world of today awoke April 15, 1912."   



	6. Columbus

A long time had passed since my breakdown that spring. Actually a new spring would be starting in a week. I couldn't have had better friends to see me through it. They never asked me to give any story or explanation. They knew enough to guess what might be the cause of my unrest, Mary especially.   
She never said anything, but on occasion I caught her giving me suspicious yet strangely sympathetic glances. But she had silently agreed not to say anything when she took my hand the next morning and led me down the stairs. She looked me directly in the eyes and nodded.   
I should have been thankful for the kindness bestowed upon me by my friends and I constantly reminded myself of that. But I've always had this natural repulsion of pity that I've never been able to shake. Not that I didn't give it myself, but it made me feel feeble, pathetic, and lame. Something I inherited from both my parents.   
  
Manny proposed in the summer. I said yes. Although I enjoyed the unpredictable kind of existence that I was living it still felt good to see a simple, happy life in my future. I loved Manny. Even though sometimes he drove me completely up the wall. He was a wonderful person. There would be no more "having to be careful," we wouldn't have to worry about that anymore. Hard times may have been ahead: a white woman and a Latino man, but we didn't care.   
I could see it might be rather a good idea to raise children in the sort of homey, familiar environment of the Saloon, except for the activities of Friday and Saturday nights. Sammy, Bookie, Mary and Maria could be a part of a wonderful extended family, at least for the time they stayed in Columbus, or maybe they would settle down too. Not that I was pregnant, but I hoped to be as soon as we were married.   
But like I had learned before, you can never be sure what the future holds, not even the immediate future. Life is unpredictable. It can take mere seconds to change your life or to ever seal your fate…   
  
It was an ordinary morning on an ordinary day in a dreadfully ordinary town, (our home of Columbus being that town.)   
I was supposed to meet Fannie Prescott for coffee at noon. She was the teller at the bank. I was going to help fix some the hems on some of her old dresses that afternoon, but we were going to have a little something to eat first.   
It was a little before four in the morning in early March and for some odd reason everyone in the house was awake, save for Mary who often slept late. I've always liked the secrecy of the early morning hours so when the mood strikes me I'm liable to get up extra early just to spend quality time with myself. I decided to do that this particular morning. Unfortunately so did everyone else.   
After I got up Manny rose too and got dressed. "Buenos días Querida." He kissed me on the cheek.   
"Buenos días Sweetie."   
"What time is it?"   
"Early. Muy early."   
"I'm not sleepy anymore."   
"How about we go downstairs and have breakfast? Just us."   
"Buena idea." Besides us, there seemed to be a strange silence, save for the occasional grunting of a horse coming from outside.   
So us two, the soon-to-be Sanchezes, crept downstairs to have a private breakfast. Something we'd never had.   
I happily slipped on my engagement ring very much unlike I had done that same course of action four years earlier. It was rather plain, pewter and with just a little piece of polished glass in the center, but it was quite charming.   
When we arrived at the bottom of the stairs we were met by Sammy, Bookie and Maria. Scrap that buena idea.   
"Where's Mary?" I asked.   
"Old Mare's in bed. Headaches. Woman's thing." Said Bookie.   
"What are you people doing up anyway?"   
"Maria was wide awake an hour ago and woke us up."   
"I couldn't sleep." She defended. "What about you two?"   
"Same." Manny looked at me and shrugged.   
Maria skipped off towards the kitchen. "Who's up for an early breakfast?"   
"Me."   
"Me."   
"Me."   
"And I Madame." Bookie was in curiously good mood for generally late riser. Maria, Sammy, and Bookie danced off towards the kitchen. Manuel needed a bath so he went upstairs assuring us he'd be down in time for breakfast.   
"So who wants what? Eggs, bacon, I could go for French toast myself. Big fancy breakfast just for us people." It seemed Maria was always chipper no matter what time of day it was.   
I followed Manny up the stairs and went in to check on Mary. She was not in one of her better moods to say the least.   
Next I went back to my fiancé who had lost himself under the water. As soon as he poked his head out I playfully dunked him back under.   
"What time is it?" He asked me after he had spit the excess water out of his mouth.   
"A little after four."   
"Cristo. It's not even day yet."   
"Technically it is. The next day starts at midnight. So it's the ninth already."   
"Yes but it's daytime still."   
While we were the midst of our little chat we stopped to listen to an argument between Mary and Maria, who had found her way upstairs.   
"Well I want to say I'm feeling just like peaches and cream but I can't now can I!" Mary, as dearly as we loved her and as sweet as she was, like everyone else, had her less than flattering moments. This was one of them.   
Then loud noises were heard from outside. Booms and cracks and shouting. Maria ran to the window. "Well I want to say there aren't angry villistas running around outside but I can't now can I!"   
"What!" Mary yelled.   
"Look damn it! Look!" The cries from the town outside continued.   
"What!" Manny and I turned to each other. I ran out towards the girls' bedroom while he followed after me, struggling to get out of the bath and grab a towel. I stopped half way there. Manny's towel had dropped.   
"Manny put some clothes on damn it!"   
"Shit!" He had just noticed when I pointed it out to him.   
I stumbled into the room where Maria and Mary now stood in silence. "What? What's going on?" Normally, I would have thought it a practical joke, but the shouts from outside were very real.   
Manny fell in with his pants barely on. I lay there on the floor clinging to my fiancé as Mary and Maria stood there. Any stirring coming from stop downstairs had halted. The sounds of gunfire and men shouting "Viva Villa!" and Viva Mexico!" came closer.   
"Villistas! Villistas!" Maria jumped up and down pointed out the window.   
"Get away from that window Maria! Now!" Manny ordered little sister. He sprung up from the floor to physically move her to safety. Mary dropped back onto the bed and groaned.   
"Move." I confirmed my thoughts aloud, "we have to move…NOW!"   
I ran downstairs while the other three followed. Sammy and Bookie were ducked behind a table looking intently out the window.   
I ran out onto the front porch. Men with guns and horses were shouting and people were running out of burning buildings.   
"Rose get back inside!" Manny pulled me back in. "What the hell's going on?!"   
"We're being attacked!" shouted Sammy.   
"I've noticed!" Maria shouted back at them.   
"Calm down God damn it!" Mary screeched. I've lost count of how many times Mary scolded me for using God's name in vain, not that she didn't swear otherwise. "Somebody think!"   
Bookie refused to move from behind the table, but still offered an idea. "Is this an invasion or a raid?"   
"If it's an invasion we haven't got a prayer, if it's a raid you can sure as hell bet they're going to be coming here." I paused to catch my breath. I almost didn't realize how fast I was breathing. "We need to get out as quickly and as quietly as possible. Just get what you need. Bookie, can The Piece of Shit pull its wait for a few miles?" (I was referring to the tin lizzy, his pet project for the past year. "The Piece of Shit" was its common name in the house.)   
"It should."   
"It better."   
"Where are we going? We can't leave here! I'm not leaving!"   
"Maria we have to! We have no other choice!"   
"What about everybody else? What if they're out for blood? We can't just run away! We need time to think!"   
I looked to the chaos outside. "Everyone else is leaving. If we stay we die! We need to get out now and consider everything else later! And there is no time to think! Everyone get your things and let's go. We'll meet outside by the car. And be fast as lightning. Be down here immediately if not sooner!" I told myself then that I was going to get all of us out of there come hell or high water.   
We all bolted upstairs and grabbed our things in a mad rush. I tore open my dresser draws and grabbed the Sunday dress Alice had made for me, a collection of letters and postcards from my all friends and old newspaper clippings, my glasses, my old sash dress and Cal's old coat which still contained the money and the blue diamond. I shoved all of those into my suitcase along with a few other miscellaneous items and clothing. Manny, on the other side of the room had finished his packing before me and was waiting impatiently and near panic.   
I grabbed his hand and we ran downstairs to meet the others. He only had pants on and they were soaked through, sticking to his legs.   
We found Maria clearing the dining area of everything she could find. She was taking too long and we had to drag her out to the back porch.   
By the time we ran outside the cavalry had already responded. We threw our luggage in with ourselves and Bookie flipped the switch and pulled the choke while I frantically winded the crank. It made a few pathetic little noises and gave out.   
"Come on! Come on!" I pleaded. The others screamed and yelled from inside the car. I slammed my fist against the automobile as I cursed it and then resumed cranking. The car finally started with roar and jolt. I launched myself over the hood and groped my way frontward as Bookie slammed on the gas and the car soared forward.   
Luckily, The Piece of Shit had no windshield, so that was not in my path. "Come   
on Rose!" Sammy latched on to my wrist and pulled me back over on top of himself, Maria, and Bookie, who were all sitting in the front seat.   
My feet flew up as I fell in and kicked Bookie in the face. The car swerved and the right wheels left the ground for a moment. We came down with a crack and the car rocked from side to side.   
The gunshots were getting louder and louder. Not because the villistas were on our block, but because they were firing at us. "Does this fucking shitbox go any faster?!" Mary screamed in Bookie's ear.   
"Hurry!" I screeched. "They're getting closer!"   
Bookie hit the gas again and we surged forward, The Piece of Shit pushing with all her little might. Behind us we could hear the sounds of shattering glass and burning buildings. I climbed into the back with Manuel and Mary.   
We all turned behind us to see men running out of the Saloon with boxes and bags while flames danced teasingly from the upstairs windows. The heat from the fire distorted the image of the town's buildings on the horizon. They seemed to wave us goodbye.   
Maria stifled a cry. It was really her Saloon. Her restaurante. Four years earlier when the Sanchez children came to New Mexico, after their parents' death, they worked at old lady Marguerita's saloon. When she died only months later they took over. Maria, at only sixteen was a talented cook, but more importantly a decisive businesswoman. She put her life into that Saloon and the customers, the townspeople, her employees, her friends, and her brother. Her home was gone. Her fellow Columbians might be dying and Columbus itself was being burnt to the ground. Now her life was being swallowed up by flames and the only choice she had was whether to watch or to look away.   
  
Our small family drove onward into the desert away from our home, everyone remained in this dazed, terrified silence, except for Maria who was sobbing and wailing.   
No one actually spoke any comprehensible to words to anyone else.   
Then something very particular caught my eye. "Bookie…" I said to him in a calm, low voice. No response. "Bookie we're going the wrong way."   
"We're going away and I'm not bloody stopping until we cross the border into Colorado!" His voice along with his whole body was shaking.   
"We're not heading anywhere near Colorado." I kept my stoic demeanor.   
"We're getting away. We'll be safe soon."   
"No," I said, "BECAUSE WE'RE DRIVING INTO MEXICO!!!!!" I stood up and pointed violently at the sign that read 'Mexico.' "MEXICO!!"   
"WHAT?!" His eyes bulged and he lunged his head forward towards the sign.   
"Mexico?!" Maria's head shot up.   
"Mexico!" I repeated. "You're going into Mexico!"   
We passed the sign. "Bookie stop the car!" shouted Sammy.   
"Stop now!" Mary shrieked. "Ahora!"   
"Turn around! Turn around!" Manny ordered.   
Bookie finally stopped the car and we were thrown forward, each person slamming into whatever was in front of them.   
After a moment everyone got out. We were dusty, tired, displaced, and lost. We walked out and stretched for moment. I opened up my suitcase to get my glasses. I wiped them off on my blouse and put them on.   
We stood around the car not saying anything. Maria wiped the streaks of dried tears from her face. The sun was up by now, beating down on us and blinding our eyes.   
There was silence again as we climbed back into the car. "Alright everyone let's turn her around." Sammy sighed. Bookie sat at the wheel again, flipped the switched and pulled the choke while I winded the crank. Manuel stood beside me as I was on my knees turning the crank.   
It was different than it was the hour before. This time The Piece of Shit made no noise whatsoever and there was no jolt, no puking of black smoke. Nothing. I tried over and over again, but there was nothing. "Come on damn it." I sighed. I didn't have the energy any more. The last hour's adrenaline rush had ceased and I was beginning to feel the effects of it, as were my comrades. I looked up at the sky for a moment and shielded my eyes with my arm. I grunted and went back to my work. I still couldn't get it to do anything.   
I stood up and paced for several seconds, glaring vindictively at the automobile. "God damn useless thing." I glowered. "Odio!" I kicked it hard. "FUNCIÓNA! HIJO DE HEMBRA! MIERDA! MUERTA MUERTA! MUERTA DAMN YOU!" Then I screamed something altogether incomprehensible in a horrible shrill and continued kicking the living hell out of the automobile until Manuel put his hand over my shoulder.   
"Please calm down Rosa. Por favor." I still squirmed as he moved me bodily away from The Piece of Shit, which was now truly living up to it's name.   
He tried to walk me back into the vehicle, but something very particular caught my eye again. Mixed up in our bewildering dilemma, we failed to notice the small group of men closing in on us. They came out from behind a wall bushes and cactuses. They had probably been watching us for several minutes. There were about ten of them if my memory serves me correctly. Ten or so villistas on horseback had their guns pointed straight at our heads.


	7. Columbus

We were rounded up by the men before another was word spoken. Now we were standing in front of firing squad.   
"Estamos Mexicanos!" Maria made a desperate plea and pointed to herself and her brother. "Y ellos no son federales no?" She pointed to the rest of us. "No somos sus enemigos!" They didn't seem swayed.   
Not far off another train of men had rounded up two other "enemigos." A teenage boy and another Mexican man. The Mexican importuned them to let him live. The boy, an American, urgently rambled on about not missing classes. He was a high school student from New Jersey.  
A gentlemen in his late thirties stopped the other soldiers and seemed to rescue them. He appeared to be their leader. He preached to his comrades about being men and not savages. He let them off the hook, but did not set them free.  
I looked to the man, praying he would come over by us, but he didn't seem to notice. It was taps. They held up they're guns while one of them counted. "Uno, dos-"  
"No!" It was that man again. He had found his way towards us. *Oh Thank God.* Mary crossed herself.   
Our savior gave a speech similar to his previous. He was so emotional and strangely empathic. I could not help looking on all of them with disdain after what happened to Columbus, but something about him made me like him on some level. He ordered his men to load us up on to a nearby wagon. I asked one of the soldiers as to whom that man was.  
"Quien es el señor?" I said.  
He spoke back to me in my own language. "That is my dear señorita, General Francisco Villa. You're lucky he's in one of his more sentimental moods."   
So that was Pancho Villa. That famous freedom fighter and revolutionary. He sounded like a just and passionate man fighting for a noble cause from what I read in the papers.   
Now that I looked on him couldn't decide how I felt. He destroyed our home and saved our lives. What most fascinated me about him was that he seemed more complicated than myself. Despite my new hatred of the man he did intrigue me so.  
But being carted around in that wagon was like jail, uncomfortable, boring, and it's the only place you don't want to be at that very moment.   
  
***  
Chicago, July 1913   
  
"Three thousand six hundred forty-six, three thousand six hundred forty-seven, three thousand six hundred forty-eight, three thousand six hundred forty-nine, three thousand six hundred fifty…" The wall was cold, but there was nothing else to lean up against and the straw in the bed poked out. A well-educated, imaginative mind was now reduced to counting for entertainment. Counting! And I kept losing count when I got into the four thousands. I did this when sinking into to foolish fantasies no longer worked.   
"Alright Rose, you're free to go." Superintendent Murray always bothered me, but I could have had worse, much worse. After two weeks of being locked up I hated him for the silliest reasons. He had to sigh first before he spoke, he never shaved evenly, his stomach fat spilled over his belt unattractively, and he always stared at me with this odd look of disapproval and pity. We had a mutual contempt for one another that always stayed just below the surface.   
Two weeks earlier I had been at a demonstration out on a green when things started to get a little rough between the suffragettes and the public. Agnes Plum, who was about thirty-five years older than me, and probably the scariest woman alive, in both appearance and countenance, seemed to be having a bit of a disagreement with man much smaller than her- not that this man was in any way small.   
"Agnes…maybe we should just ignore him…"  
"Look at this unemployed lush. I don't have to take any rude comments from this filth. Just leave you good for nothing scum or I'll make you sorry you were ever born."  
"Go back home Calamity Jane. If they'll even let you back in."   
"Don't talk like that to her!" I shouted. Before I had pitied him for trying to tangle with Agnes, but this was too much.  
"I don't have to listen to little girls neither." He tried to put his cigarette out on me. On impulse I hit over the head with my sign. The last thing he probably saw before he passed out was the word 'Vote.'   
That was how I got my two-week vacation from the world.   
I rose slowly and walked out to meet Iris and Alan.  
"When can I start work again?"  
"Anytime you want." Alan laughed at me not quite understanding. Iris knew. She had been in there before. "I'll even give you a raise. An extra Hershey's bar." How I loved working in a candy store.  
"Thanks."   
"Let's go home." Iris just smiled and shook her head.  
"Always a pleasure having you Rose. Maybe we'll see you again some time." Said Murray.  
"God how I hate that man." I whispered once we were out of his earshot. We all laughed.  
  
***   
  
Then I was back to sitting in silence in the wagon. I leaned against back clutching my suitcase. My mind had gone numb. I knew I had seen much worse before, but all I wanted was to go home. Not that a drink of water and a few cigarettes would've hurt. But jail was better though; it was inside, it didn't move, and I knew when I could go home. This time there was no Iris to come and bail me out.  
"I wonder what's going to happen now." Said Sammy.  
"I wonder what my mother is doing now." I pondered aloud.  
"I wonder what George is doing right now. Like he's so far away, what's happening to him is something so alien from what's happening to me." Mary sighed.  
"I wonder what's happening in Columbus right now." Said Maria.  
"I was supposed to see Fannie Prescott today. I wonder what happened to her. I hope she's alright." My throat was going dry and I needed nicotine.  
"I wonder what my wife…ex-wife is doing now. And I hope it's worse than this." Bookie had loved his wife, more than she loved him apparently. She grew tired of his lack of responsibility and threw him out of the house. She moved in with another man not long after that. A month later Bookie hopped on a boat and headed for America hoping that the New World would bring him a new life. Whatever it was he had to get as far away as possible from Marion. I think that was her name. He didn't like to talk about that much. That was all he ever told me.  
But what had become of Columbus? Maybe most of the citizens were left untouched, but the center of town, where we lived, was surely destroyed. And Camp Furlong, the military outpost must have been the first thing they hit. But maybe they fought them off. Maybe they were still fighting. Cristo! Who knows?  
Columbus. That scenic shithole, that desolate paradise. What had happened to it? The place where I had met my new family, saw my first crane, (there were beautiful cranes that lived in the area), the place where I had fallen in love again…well almost, but I did love Manny and I stuck to that sentiment like glue.  
  
That night we camped somewhere out in the desert. Our gang was untied and they let us set up camp with them. The lot of us were crouched by a small fire with a new friend Bookie had found. His name was Diego. He spoke English rather well too. Unfortunately, poor Diego, thinking he would be of some assistance to this hapless bunch, came under a firing squad of questions.  
It started out slightly civil. One would say something like: "What was your goal?"   
He would tell us it was a supply raid, they were low, they did not go after any civilians, we would probably not been shot dead if we stayed in the Saloon.  
"What was in Columbus?"  
"Horses, ammunitions in Camp Furlong, if they went after your restaurante it was food, and somebody from Columbus sold Villa movie blanks instead of actual ammo."  
"Why invade the US?"  
"We lost so many men at Celaya, 14,000 I think, well it was so bad your President   
recognized Carranza's faction as the legitimate government of Mexico. That might have set him off. Then the US aided the ambush on us at Agua Prieta and let Carranza use your railroads, the list goes on. So it's a little personal too."  
Then questions got a little more intense. For example "What about all those people that lived there?" He really didn't know how to answer that one. Or "What about my fucking restaurant?!" Then we pulled Maria away and Mary took her to go find a drink a water to calm her down.  
After Maria nearly killed him I asked him one more question. "What are *you* fighting for?"  
"Well not to insult you señorita, but isn't it obvious? Carranza and his rich friends took everything from us and sold off our lands to your country-"   
"No!" General Villa interrupted. He picked scooped up a handful of dirt from the ground and held it to my face. "We fight for the this. Just to own piece of it. We fight to raise crops, to feed our children, to live our lives! Este es nos revolución. Go home niña. Go back to your fat, rich country. We don't need you!"  
I knew what it was like to have life dictated for me and not be heard. I had gained freedom, it was more frightening than oppression, but without freedom you cannot truly live your life. As proud as am I can never say I won my freedom alone. I had help. This was a different situation but it was the same thing. Freedom.  
"I'm staying. I will fight. Someone once showed me the way to freedom, I had help getting where I am today. I had the chance and I don't deny to anyone else, especially on a larger scale. I'll fight with you. Let me stay."  
He smiled at me, not sure whether to be pleased or confused. "Ah, woman!" He laughed and gave me a merry slap on the back. I coughed. "Diego! Give the girl a job!"   
*What an amazing man. I wish Manuel had that sort of passion…NO…this is purely an intellectual fixation.* I'd only seen that one burning fire inside in one person…ever. General Villa had something close. Burning passion for something. Drive, ambition, sentiment. Villa had it.  
"Nice speech. Were you trying to out do him?" Manny asked bringing me back to reality.  
"No."  
"What was the whole thing about gaining freedom?"  
"Maybe later."  
  
The next day we were on the move again. I, being a woman, got to look after horses and load guns. I resented it, but I still did it. The others joined too. They really had no other place to go and I guess no wanted to say no after I gave my little speech. Maria was a little angry, but growing up in Mexico and being less than warm towards Carranza most of her life she agreed to join the revolution.  
We stopped in a cantina while waiting for a train to Ciudad Guerrero. The longer we waited the more nervous I got. I kept listening to other people's conversations. "It's full of federales. We get our asses shot off."   
"Rose talk. You're making yourself crazy."  
"Shut up Sam. Damn it I got everyone in to this and now I'm turning chicken. This is my responsibility. You guys do not have to be here." To be frank, the idea of death really didn't scare me anymore, but I had dragged others into it now. "Go home."  
I huffed the smoke out of my mouth. It was the first cigarette I'd had in two days.  
"We could've said no."  
"I'm going to get a drink. Want?"  
"No thanks."  
After I got my drink I caught part of another discussion. That high school kid from Jersey was still there too. He was sitting with another Mexican, José, and a Belgian, Remy Baudouin. Jones was his name. Henry Jones Jr. He went around calling himself Indy, after his dog. I'd heard of his father, Professor Henry Jones of Princeton University.   
At this moment young Indy was attempting to write his father explaining why he joined the Mexican Revolution. It wasn't going well.  
"How's it going?" I asked.  
"Not well." Responded Remy.   
Indy just groaned. I wondered how I would start a letter to my mother telling her I joined the Mexican Revolution.   
"Tell him you're furthering your education. Quote his favorite philosopher."  
"Tried that." He said and tossed up another crumpled up piece of paper.  
"Well good luck." I said. The three of them gave me a little wave. "Nice hat." I pointed to Indy.  
  
"Ready everybody?" Diego was rounding us up. They put him in charge of watching us gringos. "Rosa how do you except to move like that?" I had my suitcase strapped to my back with two leather belts. Everyone else packed their belongings in some form of duffel or sack, I was the only with a hard suitcase. The only form of luggage I had was my suitcase.   
"I can handle it. It's small." Well it was.  
"Have it your way gringa. What is with you Americans? You're obsessed material possessions. You have to lug all your stupid shit everywhere."  
"This is all I have to show for my twenty-one years and some of this 'shit' is damn important."  
"It always is." I gave him a cynical little smile as I tightened one of the belt straps. "Take this." He tossed me something.   
"What the hell is this?"  
"What does it look like? It's a pistol. You'll need it."  
"Christ."  
"Have you ever killed a man before?"  
"…n-no."  
"There's first time for everything."   
"WHAT?!"  
"This is a war remember. And I heard your little speech. You better live up to it."  
I sighed and got on my horse. "Fine." I tied the sheath around my waist. "What's in Ciudad Guerrero?"  
"Gold, dinero. Federales. Lots of them."  
"Lovely." *I can't KILL anybody. Maybe there was that spider once when I was eight…*  
Diego hopped on the side of the train. "I grew up there. It's my hometown. You help free my people, no?"  
"Yes."  
"Rose!" Maria rode up behind me with Mary practically on her clinging to her.  
"Hey you guys."  
Diego tried to look at Mare's face, but it was buried in Maria's back.   
"What's the matter with her?" he asked.  
"Sorry I've never gone into battle before."  
"I've never had someone's nose shoved two inches into my back. So there's a new experience for everyone today."  
"You'll see some action today kid." Diego laughed and shook his head.   
"I saw 'action' once. Tenth Avenue in Manhattan. Carmine Andolini beat the living hell out some guy that made a move on his mother. I know one his brothers, Sonny. Emily beat him up once when they were twelve. He's about her age."  
"You're rambling." Maria jutted her back out, knocking Mary.   
"Sorry I'm only a little petrified."  
"Only one rule," said Diego, "stay alive. Vamanos!"   
  
We got closer and Ciudad Guerrero was in sight. The train would soon be knocking threw the wall.   
I had all my friends in sight. Mary and Maria to my left, Sammy and Manuel to my right, Bookie behind, and the train to the right, of course, with Diego watching over us.  
We got closer and closer until we could the Federales lined up around the city walls. One of them called out.  
"Villistas!"  
Now this was it we were being fired at. Now I had to act. I pulled out my gun, pulled back the hammer and-suddenly I felt like someone had broken my fingers and my gun was no longer in my hand. *Shit.*  
"I lost my gun!"  
"At least you had one!" shouted Mary and Maria.  
"Then duck!" shouted Manny as he fired off a round and pushed my head down.  
Then they uncoupled the flatcar full of explosives. It detached and rammed into the wall in chorus of explosions and fire.  
We broke through the city. I looked around ducked having no way to attack or to protect myself. I couldn't see very well either, the sun kept getting in my eyes. I kept reaching my hand out towards Maria and Mary, trying to keep them close by clinging to their sleeves.  
When we broke into the city I dismounted my horse and found a stray gun on the ground.   
I even felt guilty about leaving the poor horse alone. I tried to direct it under an awning.   
"Go there! Stay. Stay under there." I waved finger at it. It listened.  
I picked up my gun and searched around for my friends. I'd lost them. I was alone.   
Someone came up behind. I tried to see, but all I really could see was dust and bright white light. I shielded my eyes and squinted trying to place the man running towards me.  
The picture slowly became clearer. A man with a gun running towards me. I didn't recognize him. *A Federale?*   
*Oh fuck!*  
I fired my gun and he fell. He writhed on the ground clutching his arm. I hit him in the arm or I scathed him at least. He was bleeding rather badly.  
I ran to side and put my hand on his arm.  
"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean it! Are you hurt?"  
He punched me in the face. It was the hardest I'd ever been hit in my life. It flung me to the ground. My back was in shock. I forgot about my suitcase.  
He stood over me aiming his gun at my face. I might have had some time to act, he was trying to get it to fire. Maybe he was out? I tried to focus on him. He hit so hard I thought I would see stars.   
This was it. No help in sight. If only I could just get up. I could feel something warm spreading through my mouth. Blood.   
*Goodbye Bookie, Sammy, Manny, Maria, and Mary. Hello again Jack, Papa, Alice, Trudy, and Maximillion Hound.*  
*No! No Rose. Don't give up. I'm not going to allow myself to let go just because I get knocked down.*  
I could feel the life returning to my body. *Only one rule. Stay Alive.* Then a gunshot blast.   
The man fell on top of me. I screamed and jumped out from under him. I was dizzy, I couldn't think.   
Looking up I saw Diego. He just tipped his hat and smiled. That was the last time I ever saw him.  
Moments later a plane flew overhead. Everyone turned their guns up to shoot at it. It was one of General Pershing's men. They had followed us in. It began dropping bombs all over the city. Then came Yankee canon fire. Now I was being attacked by my own people. Who were my people now?   
After that us Villistas…I was a Villista now. Funny. Anyway after that we cleared out.  
  
The next day we were headed for a hacienda owned by William Randolph Hearst. Mary, Sammy, Bookie, Maria and Manuel were all alive and well. I was the only one with an injury. There was a gigantic, swelling bruise on the right side of my face. It gave me a temporary lisp.  
But Diego didn't make it. Poor soul. He died at home at least.   
Camping out that night I listened in on an exchange between Villa and one of his men. The man asked if we really wanted war with the US. Villa said yes, then Carranza would get caught in the middle.   
*See? He doesn't hold any malice against America. It's a war strategy. What am I saying? This is crazy, you're not in love with Pancho Villa. This is TRANSFERNCE. Yes transference!*   
I was young, engaged, and still lonely. In psychological terms what I was experiencing is called transference. Every bit of passion and feeling I felt for and saw in Jack, who was now four years gone, I was now transferring to General Villa: a man of great passion and determination and love for his home. I laughed at the thought of Jack valiantly fighting to free the people of Wisconsin.   
I'd get over it soon, but what about Manny? It wasn't fair to him. I would never love him like he deserved. He didn't deserve to live with a wife who carried a torch for a dead man. But how was I supposed to terminate the engagement at a time like this?  
  
There was no one at Hearst's Hacienda when we arrived.  
"All this wealth and he just leaves it here." Manny said to me.  
"People with a lot of money throw it around. This is probably the most modest place he owns." I told him.  
Inside it was elegantly rustic being a vacation home. It was the first fancy place I'd been in since I left home. It felt…strange.   
Inside people began looting everything they found. Someone shouted something about there being a cinema downstairs. Bookie yanked my arm. "Come on!"  
For those of us that had actually been to a cinema it had been a long time. Everybody went downstairs to the cinema. I sat with my closest friends among the motley crew of revolutionaries. We sat around watching a Civil War short. Then the news reel. Mostly about the war in Europe which now seemed to be of disinterest to Maria, then about the raid of Columbus.   
The kid, Indiana Jones, was still there, translating the English. During the news he began to purposely misinterpret it. The American public now had very negative feelings towards General Villa. He edited those parts out and changed the words.   
The angry Villistas obviously didn't believe Indy and shot at the screen. Everyone started to clear out after that. My group sat there for a spell.  
"This isn't my revolution." Mary leaned over to whisper to Maria.   
"What makes you think it's mine?"   
Now everyone in our little group was concentrating on each other. "Anybody else?" Sammy sighed.  
"They could be fighting for everything good and pure, but this just isn't our place." Said Bookie.  
"Rose?" Sammy asked remembering what I had said to Villa.  
"No, no you're right. We're all gringos at heart here. We can't help these people. I think Diego knew that."  
"Pobre Diego." Sighed Manuel.  
"We can't fight for him. We should go home. To Columbus or what's left of it, or America, but this is not where we belong. We're all Americans in one way or another." Said Maria.  
"Let's go home then," said Sammy, "We'll ride in to Veracruz and we'll catch a boat to Texas or Louisiana or somewhere."   
  
In Veracruz an old man told me something I will never forget. Revolutions come and go, dictators rise and fall, they all preach freedom, they all steal. The only thing that changes is the name of the man oppressing you.  
We stayed in Veracruz for a while, getting ourselves together. We got on boat and left for Texas and arrived in Galveston on April 1st. 


	8. Columbus

We stayed in Galveston for nearly a month. It was a lonely time for us all. I called things off with Manny on the third day we were there. I told him I loved him, but things wouldn't last, I couldn't love him like he deserved. He was angry at first, understandably. He didn't talk to me for a week. It hurt terribly; I thought I had lost a friend for good. I probably it deserved to; I broke his heart.  
But Manny wasn't much of a planner so to speak. When I did really want to marry him I kept nagging him about setting a date and organizing things and he never really got too enthusiastic about it. He said it was his fault for putting things off and maybe he wasn't ready to get married to anybody.   
He asked me to keep the ring. It was still gift from him to me and we would always love each one way or another. So I still wore the ring as a gift from a dear friend.  
  
One other incident kept the whole group of us from speaking on normal terms. It happened on our way to Veracruz. We "borrowed," as Manny would say, some horses and a map and rode mostly through small towns, but we eventually got lost out in the desert. We weren't as far from civilization as we thought, but the discovery we made perturbed us and would follow us back to the States.  
The desert was silent, even quieter than Columbus. I started to miss it the noise of the camps, laughing, carousing, the sound of a guitar…  
"I think you're reading it upside down, that's why we're lost, genius." Maria snapped at her big brother.  
"Don't start bitching now Maria." Sammy pointed his finger and she ignored him.  
"Shut up a minute, and we're not lost dammit."  
"We're lost aren't we?" sighed Mary.   
"Bloody hell." Bookie snorted.   
My horse grunted. "You and me both." I whispered swinging my legs over either side of its body.  
"We are not lost!" snapped Manny.  
"Are too." said Maria.  
"Are not." answered her brother.   
"Are too."  
"Are not!"  
"Are too!"  
"Are not!"  
"Are too!"   
"Oh shut up!" I moaned "And give me that." I snatched the map out of his hands. "Manuel you obviously don't know where you are, but we are not totally lost."  
"We're not?" he asked me sincerely and stuck his tongue out at his little sister when he thought I wasn't looking, she did likewise.   
"Well, if we're here," I pointed, "which is highly likely, then the next town on the way to Veracruz is only five miles to the southeast, which would be that way." I pointed again.  
"Oh." was all he said.  
"Well," I said, "I'm in charge now."  
"Says who?" asked Maria.  
"Says me, I know I got you all into this mess, but I'm getting you out too."  
"What makes you qualified to be our leader, Dawson?" Bookie said trying to trip me up.  
"Well, for starters I've survived under all sorts of conditions, I'm relatively well educated, I've broken two noses with my bare fist, I have the capacity for abstract thought, I speak three languages and that's not including Latin, and most importantly I seem to be the only one around here that knows how to read a bloody map!"   
"Right then. Lead the way." he said.   
We rode in silence for a few minutes until Mary pointed out the strange smell coming from the yonder brush we'd all been pretending not to notice.  
"Alright, that's it everybody," she huffed, "what in God's name is that smell?"  
"More like stench you mean?" said Bookie.  
"That would be the one."  
"It's probably just some rotting animal carcass." Sammy stated in his usual calm, matter-of-fact way.  
"Let's go see what is." Mary said.  
"Yes something stinks let's go poke at it and scrunch our noses!" Sammy mocked her. She just made a face.  
"Rose you're our fearless leader, why you go check it out?" Bookie loved getting back at people at the right moments.  
"Fine." I dismounted my horse and crept over the bushes, the smell got worse and worse. I found a piece of paper near, it was a symbol drawn in pencil.  
"What is it?" Mary called and she skipped over to me to look at it.  
"I don't know it's got some sort of symbol or character on it."  
"Maybe it's Mayan or Aztec?"   
"If it came from anywhere around here it's probably Aztec. The Mayans were over on the Yucatan Peninsula, it's southeast of here." I waved my hand motioning in some unknown direction.  
"Shit! Get away!" Mary screeched as she practically jumped into my arms.  
"Oh it's a snake." I observed. It slithered past us and on its way.  
"What the hell it is doing here?"   
"It lives here, you don't. Just when I forget you're from New York, you always manage to remind me."  
"They're poisonous you know, you should be careful."  
"Only if they bite you, and they only bite you if you bother them. It's just a snake."  
"Oh God." Mary gasped.  
"What?"  
She covered her mouth and turned away. Bodies, five of them.  
All men several days expired with all sorts of archaeological equipment on their persons. And it was obvious the desert hadn't killed them. These men were attacked, beaten, and stabbed.   
The others joined us after we didn't answer them several times. After a very long silence I was the one to speak.  
"I know that man." I pointed to the tall one with the big red mustache.  
"Rose…how?" Manny asked.  
"I met him once," I stepped over a tiny wall of bushes and knelt down to him, covering my mouth and my nose, "he knew my father, I met him at my house once when I was eight."  
"Who was he?" Sammy whispered.  
"Reggie Carnahan. He's a famous archaeologist from England, this symbol must be Aztec now, because that's his area. He's got a brother over in Egypt. They're quite well-known actually. Poor Mr. Carnahan. Who would've wanted to kill him?"  
  
In the next town we reported the murders. They were a little suspicious of us at first, but couldn't find any evidence or reason against us so they let us go after two days. I still kept the piece of paper with the figure on it.   
When we got to Galveston we stayed in a cruddy hotel provided by my "savings." It was the first time I dipped into Cal's money. I also used it to send wires. One to the Columbus post office, Fannie Prescott was still alive and well, most of the civilians were left alone even though the center of town was almost leveled and she sent us the all the money in Maria and Manuel's bank accounts. Another Mary sent to her people back in Manhattan telling them she was alive and in Texas. They were coming down to Texas. They being George, Danny, Emily, and Emily's boyfriend: Sonny Andolini.  
Since Mary had been living without the man she loved for over a year she began to have extremely vivid dreams. In one she described water literally flowing out of a person's every pore, not shooting or spraying out of the body, but steadily flowing out. In another she picked up a rose and it began to bleed.   
The last one she had was the most interesting. She describes it entering St. John's Cathedral in New York and it is completely finished. (It was relatively new back then and it is still not completed to this today, the transects have yet to be constructed.) But as she's entering it snow begins to fall from an opening spanning across its enormous ceiling, it gets deeper and deeper as she continues towards the front, and it gets harder and harder to continue. Once she reaches the alter the snow is waist deep. Then sunlight comes down through the opening and she can't breathe anymore.   
If only the movies had the technology then to recreate such visuals. They sounded so beautiful, I wished I could see them too.  
  
We finally met Mary's crew in Houston where we would all go up to Dallas and go our separate ways from there. Mary would go back to New York. Bookie would go with Mary and then catch a boat back to England to see his parents and his brother. Sammy would go to Santa Fe and from there go to visit his four sisters back on the Rez and try to get them to leave with him this time. Manny and Maria would go with Sammy to Santa Fe, then back to Columbus, and see if they could pull things back together, if they couldn't they would go see their cousin Sarita in San Diego. As for me, I had a destination set. This time, it was not by force or on a whim, I made my choice as soon as we all talked about moving on. I would go to Los Angeles. And not just any place in Los Angeles, I planned to stay in Santa Monica. I had a list of things I wanted to do there.   
  
It was July by the time we got everything organized in Houston. We even started working at the hotel in Galveston for two months. But we finally left after the Fourth of July.  
I was just arriving outside the station when a familiar voice came up behind me.  
"Max?"   
I turned around. "Calvert!"  
"Oh call me George."  
"Gosh I haven't seen you since I left the hospital."  
"You're looking much better."  
"Well thanks," I said, "you're going to take good care of our Mary aren't you?"  
He blushed. He was rather funny to see such a strong looking man blush. "It's the only thing I've wanted to do for eighteen months. I'm just glad she didn't give up on me."  
"I think she feels the same way."   
"Of course I do!" Mary came up behind him and gave him huge hug. "I also am aware that you are very late." She smiled. She already had time to get reacquainted with her old friends.  
"Sorry about that."  
"Speaking of late," she turned to George, "where are the children?"  
"The children?" I asked raising my eyebrows.  
"Emily and Sonny. Danny's asleep on the train if you want to go surprise him." said George. "The other two have engaged a couple scruffy looking Frenchman in poker.  
I think we'll have to drag them away soon."  
"In a minute I think." I couldn't wait to see Danny again, but I desperately needed to see someone else first. I was going to go watch some poker.  
  
"Take that frogs!" Emily slammed down a winning hand. "Royal flush!"   
"I'm adopting her." Bookie immediately liked the kid after he heard her make several rude comments about the French.   
"How much did you derelicts win?" Mary asked.  
"Ten bucks," Sonny smiled, he was a pretty good looking kid, black hair, tan skin, save for the big nose, "which is good considering we started out with five, which wasn't even ours. We pinched it offa George-"  
"Hey!"  
"And Milkmaid here almost bet our tickets." He gave his girlfriend a little nudge. That was a common nickname of hers. She came to New York from the rural mid-west when she was nine.  
"Emily!" said Mary.  
"I didn't lose them so it's fine. Oh fucking hell." Emily noticed the tear by the hem of her skirt. "How did that get there?" She did have mouth on her all right. Very strange to look at this young pretty little girl and here the crudest things come out.   
I took this time to carefully examine her. A jaunty, skinny girl of seventeen, not very tall with a slightly torn skirt as she pointed out, she wore big, black boots instead of regular shoes, long dark brown, almost black curls tied half way up and the rest spilled over her blood red blouse and framing her pale face, and she had flashing blue eyes that seemed to dart everywhere poking at every other pair they met.   
She may have been a week shy of seventeen, but she looked like she was only fourteen or fifteen especially with that goofy little smile of hers.  
There I caught my first glimpse of the girl called Emily. At that moment in time her only significance to me was her family blood, the simple facts of name and history, and the story she deserved to hear.  
I could not have but known that within four years time she would be the center of my universe. She'd be my sorrow, my joy, my guilt and my burden, my relief and repentance. My damnation, my redemption, my light and my grief. She'd be the thorn in my side and the warmth on my shoulder. A sister, an enemy. She drove me to the edge and pulled me back more times than I can remember, sometimes consciously, sometimes not.  
With the great frustration and great affection she made me feel, she will forever be in my heart and follow me wherever I go (and I do mean *follow*), like the playful little imp she always was inside.  
You may think it tactless in storytelling to tell you all this now and then make you wait, but she's something very special.  
I love and have loved others just as deeply, just as strongly, but so few broke and built foundations the way Emily did.  
I was forever changed by that devilish and mischievous angel. She is one of my heroes and I am proud to be one of hers. I love her.   
  
I had been waiting to meet her for so long, not just from hearing all of Mary's stories about her, but something else. Maybe I shouldn't flat out tell you even though I like getting to point, but this story will explain her as a person a little better…  
  
***  
  
July 14, 1899  
  
Maggie screamed as all her lower body convulsed again. She had been on that bed since the crack of dawn; it was now almost dinnertime.   
"Just keep pushing, Maggs, it's almost over." Her husband, Joe, tried to calm her, but she just screamed at him.   
"YOU TRY DOING THIS!"  
"Alright Margaret, not long now." Said the town doctor, Dr. Burke.  
Below them, in the kitchen, Maggie's older sister Hannah paced back and forth, she hoped her husband, Peter, also Joe's older brother, and their son wouldn't get back soon, she had him take the six year-old out so he wouldn't have to hear his aunt while she was in labor.  
"Hannah your men are home! Baby yet?" Peter got home early on purpose he felt bad about hanging around town while his niece or nephew was being born. And they had also been out for eight hours and the boy was getting cranky.  
"What does it sound like?"  
"Mommy!" The little boy jumped into his mother's arms.  
A scream came from above.  
"Uh oh." Said the husband.  
"Mommy what's going on? What's happening to Maggie?"  
"The baby has to leave Maggie's tummy and it hurts a little."  
The boy looked up and heard more screams and started to cry. "Mommy? Daddy?" He hugged his mother tighter and she rubbed his little back.  
"It's going to be fine, baby, you'll see."  
"Baby?!" He shrieked at the reminder and cried louder. "Why is it hurting Maggie?"   
"The baby's not hurting her, it's what's happening to her body."  
"What happening to her body?"   
Hannah, realizing she could never satisfy the curious and sobbing six year-old, handed him over to his father.  
"Pete take him to the Shaw's, please."  
"NO!" cried the boy, "I want to help Maggie and Joe, I want to see the baby, Milo can come over here." He was referring to the Shaw's youngest son, who was about his age.  
"Jack," said his mother as she wiped the tears from his cheeks, "Maggie will be just fine and your new cousin will be here when you get home."  
He nodded, pouting.  
"And trust me," warned his father, "you don't want to be in that room right now, it is very scary for little boys like you, me, and your uncle," he looked up at his wife and smiled. She gave him a slightly more cynical smile back.  
Peter took his son's hand and walked him over to the neighbors. Before he left him with their friends Jack asked his father one more question.  
"Dad," he said, "just between you and me, I think Joey's gonna be really scared of Maggie from now on. He's not gonna be scarred for life is he?"  
"No son, he'll be fine…eventually." He smiled and shook his head. Jack was such an odd little boy, but it made him love him even more.  
Thirty minutes later Maggie and Joe had a little daughter. Emily Dawson came into the world with every intention of rocking it.  
  
***  
  
I found myself under the spell of the strange girl. God, they even moved the same. It was unreal. It was the little girl from the drawings. I thought they were ghosts for so long. I never thought I'd ever even be in the same room with her. I was beginning to doubt her existence. But Emily Susannah Dawson, as I would find out, was something all her own.  
I stood there in a trance as the sun slowly started to break through the clouds.  
And who better to break me from this sentimental mood I've worked myself into than Emily herself.  
"Asses on train now! Hurray up it's leaving soon! Come on people!"  
"Funny little bugger." Bookie shook his head and goaded me onto the train. 


	9. Columbus

I liked trains. They were boring. There have horrible train accidents before, but I had never been on one. The only thing that really bothered me about this one was the heat. It was July in Texas.  
I walked onto the train to find my old friend fast asleep.  
"I've got a mug of scolding hot coffee and I know how to use it."  
"Really?" He said as he opened his eyes.  
"No, but wouldn't it be funny if I did."  
"Rose!" He jumped up.  
"Danny!" I hugged him, "it's great to see you again! How are you?"  
"I'm good. Glad to have my little sister back. At least she never married that Clancy guy. I like George a whole lot better. How are you?"  
"Pretty good. Glad to be back in the States. How's Isaac?"  
"He's good too. Got over you pretty quickly. He got married and they're having a baby in a few months!"  
"That's wonderful! Send my congratulations to him."  
"That he got over you or that he's having a baby."  
I gave him a little jab in the arm.   
  
Luckily the train wasn't too crowded. Strange, I thought, since it was going from one bigger city to the next. But the train was relatively empty. And thank goodness it wasn't crowded. It was too damn hot. I thought the heat might damn near kill us.  
I was wearing light clothing but it wasn't light enough. I had on a white cotton blouse and tan linen skirt and no corset. Actually, I hadn't worn a corset in three years. (Alice made me wear one to church.) But I haven't worn one since. They're ridiculous, useless things. Brassieres are much more practical.  
My hair was tied back in tight bun; it was too hot to even let my hair touch the back of my neck. My glasses even made me sweat. It was the kind of hot where no matter what you do you're never going to be comfortable.  
What made it worse was that it was only seven o'clock in the morning.  
Worse still, my conscience was bugging me, not just about Emily.  
"I can't believe myself," I said to Sammy, "I let myself be deluded into thinking what I was doing was right or just. That war has nothing to do with me. Or the rest of you for that fact. I let myself be brainwashed."  
"No you didn't. You weren't brainwashed for Chrissake."  
"Yes I was. It was so stupid."  
"Oh my God! You're twenty-one years old and you did something stupid, something foolish, something a young person would do! Honestly I'm shocked."  
"Seriously, that's not me."  
"Act you're age. Go forth and do stupid things. Get into trouble for a moronic idea that you had."  
"I do act my age and I do enjoy myself, if that's what you mean."  
"It is, but with you you're either wild or you've got one nasty bug up your ass."  
"Oh thank you."  
"You're welcome."  
  
I was trying to sleep, but it was too hot and someone was singing.  
"Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way, oh what fun it is to ride in a one horse open sleigh! OH-ow!"  
"Christ Em." George moaned.  
"Don't flick my ears Calvert!"  
"Don't sing while people are trying to sleep."  
Mary laughed.  
"McBride you Irish nuptial. What so funny?" she teased, "I'm trying to keep myself cold. It's like God damn sauna in here."  
"How is your singing out of tune going to keep you cool."  
"Christmas songs make me think of Christmas. Christmas makes me think of snow. Snow means cold. And cold actually kinda reminds of this one time in Wisconsin-"  
"Christ." said Sonny, Danny, and George in unison. Emily told even stranger stories than Mary, and more frequently too. Mary, under normal circumstances, would have groaned with the others too, but she'd gone a year and a half of no Emily, so she gladly listened.  
"Johnny Shrivel Nuts?" Mary inquired. Sonny, Danny, and George sighed again. Everyone else cocked an eyebrow. What the hell kind of story was this?  
"That's the one!"  
"Go ahead. They haven't heard it yet." She gestured to the rest of us. Everyone gathered around Emily.  
"Well," She said as she leaned her elbows on the table, "like I said it happened back in Wisconsin, where I'm originally from. Well my family, that was me, my mom, my dad, my aunt, my uncle, and my cousin, all used to go ice fishing every winter. This time just my Uncle Pete and my cousin Jack went. Father/son bonding trip, you get the idea. Anyway Jack was eleven and as I've learned eleven year-olds aren't the brightest of creatures. So Jack decided to test for thin ice by literally jumping across the lake and seeing where it cracked. Well, the ice cracked and Jack just goes right under. I mean he just shoots right down. He's gone. Pete reaches his hand down and he can't find him. So he jumps in after him and it takes him almost a minute to find him and when they pulled him out they thought he was dead. But he wasn't of course. It just took him a couple seconds to come to. Then my uncle got some rich guy with a car to drive them back in to Chippewa Falls."  
"Where does the Johnny something or other part come in?" Bookie asked.  
"Glad you asked. When Jack got home everybody wanted to know about his little brush with death. So when his friends found out, one of them, this kid Tobey Jackson, made up this really funny nickname 'cause he fell in very cold water and we all know what happens guys when they get cold. And Jack's birth name is John, but nobody's ever called him that except school marms and when our folks were mad. And he hated being called John. So hence the name Johnny Shrivel Nuts."  
"Juvenile and mean," smiled Bookie, "I like it."   
"Yeah, it's a Wisconsin thing." Emily nodded proudly. What a 'Wisconsin thing' actually was, we really didn't know, but we all nodded as if we did.  
"Hello Rosa?" Maria poked my side.   
"…W-what?"   
"You left us."  
"Qué?" *Water, Jack, cold, helpless. Don't lose it now Rose.*  
"We back to earth now?"  
"I'm still confused." *Yes, he left out a few of the more interesting parts of the story. Do we sugar coat stories for "indoor girls"? What did I look like now, huh?* As hard as it was for me to hear, I had to admit I was genuinely amused.  
"You looked a little out of it." Sammy added.  
"Oh." was all I said.  
"Em," said Mary, "did I tell you? Rose is a Dawson too."  
"Really? Glad to know you're in the club." Emily asked not extremely shocked, Dawson is not exactly a rare name. She was about to say something else when her boyfriend interrupted.   
"Some other wandering relative or something? Another mystery cousin?" Sonny teased.  
"Huh?" said Emily.  
"What did I say?" asked Sonny, sensing he was trouble. Danny and Mary cringed; they'd known her for much longer.  
"Jack is not a mystery cousin. I lived with the kid for nine years and he's in England right now, alright?"  
"Alright." Sonny whispered, barely audible.  
Now that everyone in the compartment was nice and uncomfortable I decided to get some fresh air.   
Once outside I leaned my head against the cold metal. The cars were close enough together that it made a shadow over the little area and kept it cool.   
Jack's Dawsons were real to me now. They had finally become tangible. But now the question was, how was I going to tell that girl what happened to her big cousin? Each time when I saw one young Dawson talk about the next their eyes just lit up. Jack was so proud of that wild little girl and Emily looked up to him. I just met her. Would she believe me? Poor girl, she would talk about her family constantly, but refused discuss anything about Jack's four year non-correspondence. Mary often talked about it. She knew he must be dead or at best in jail somewhere. And I knew the whole time.   
I didn't know what to do. I needed help. I wanted Jack. But if Jack was there I wouldn't have been in this pickle now would I?   
*I should tell her. No matter how hard. She needs to know.*  
I turned to go back inside. I closed the door behind me and everything in the car was silent. In fact it was almost empty, save for a few scruffy looking travelers who were fast asleep. Wrong car.  
*Whoops.*  
As I turned to leave I noticed something glimmering in the sunlight. It was something gold sticking out of one man's rucksack. As I began to make my towards the object I stopped.  
*What am I a child? Do I have to go peek at every shiny or pretty thing I see? Leave it alone, Rose.*   
I was about to turn when I noticed something on the object. A figure, or a symbol or character of some sort. I recognized it. It was the very same one I found on Reggie Carnahan!  
*I'll be God damned.*   
These were the men who murdered Mr. Carnahan and his team! They stole the…whatever is was. What the hell was it?  
I moved in closer to get a peak at it. Slowly, very slowly reached my hand into the rucksack and wrapped my hand around the gold mystery as I inched my body over the table.   
I grasped it and pulled it out. It looked to be a religious idol. A small statuette of a man or god, maybe about 6 inches high and four inches wide, but a bit heavy considering it was gold. I took my time in examining it and perusing its every detail. And on its chest was Mr. Carnahan's symbol.   
Then I looked down at the sleeping, rather foul-smelling man. *Murderer.* Or was he? There was no way to prove it (to myself or to anyone else.) And if these men did indeed kill Carnahan and his team, how could we bring them to justice? At least I could take back the idol and have it put in a museum where it belonged. Theoretically, it belonged wherever it was originally found, but this was 1916, and we didn't think about those things. Well, maybe I did, but by now there seemed to be know way to know where it was found, but at least in museum it would be preserved and shown the proper respect. And it should not be in the hands of murdering thieves!   
*What do I do now?* I decided that I was take it back. I was going to rob it from the robbers, essentially.  
I slipped out of the compartment and into mine. I heard a shuffle behind me as I left but ignored it.  
"…and then my auto just dies and these Villistas and we're surrounded by them." Bookie was telling our new friends the story of the raid.  
"What's that?" asked Manny.  
I placed it down on the table and pulled the piece of paper I found by Carnahan and placed it next to the idol.  
"Mr. Carnahan?" Mary pulled it to her face.  
"One would assume." I said.   
"That's the guy you guys found right?" Sonny asked.   
"It is." I nodded, "and those guys in there must have killed them and taken the idol. And they're in the car next to us."   
"You're serious?" said Sammy.  
"No I'm kidding. They probably bought it from Macy's. What do you think?"   
"Well, what should we should do then?" asked Maria.  
"Keep it and give to a museum when we get home. We may not be able to prove what happened to Carnahan's team, but at least we can put it in someplace where it would be safe. We agreed?"  
"They'll come looking for it." Bookie scolded.  
"Yes, they won't find it. We'll hide it in someone's suitcase."  
"You're going to get us into trouble." he continued.   
"I will not-" The man with the rucksack was opening the door from his cabin.  
"Shit!" said Manny and Maria.  
"Mierda!" said Bookie, Mary, Sammy, and I.  
"Cover for me." I started to walk to the other end of the car, heading for the door.  
"Where are you going?" Danny said, looking towards the man.  
"For a walk. Get rid of him. I'll be right back."  
I walked into the next car; it was empty. It would've been easy to hide in there, but I went into the next to be safe. I found a couple in there early fifties sipping on coffee. The man mentioned something to woman about the circus transporting animals on our train. I just smiled at them and continued towards the back of the train.   
  
George pulled out his gun, but kept under the table.   
"You're brought your gun?" Mary frowned.  
"Yeah."  
"You're off-duty, you're 2,000 miles away from duty!"  
"You never know when you're gonna need it."   
Next the man from the next car walked in. Everyone stared in anticipation.   
"Uh…hello." said Emily. "What's brings you to this side of train?"  
"You see a woman come by here? Tall red head, curly hair, with glasses." The man said with a heavy accent.  
"No." Everyone spoke in unison.  
He eyed them suspiciously. Another man from his gang entered, a local Texan.  
"Now look here," said the Texan, "we know ya'll saw her walk by this here part of train. Nacho here saw her leave our part and then something of ours went missin'! Now you just tell where she went and what she was doin'!"  
"How the hell should we bloody know!" Emily snapped. Mary tugged at her shirt trying to pull her back down.  
"You shut up now girlie!" barked the Texan.   
"Make me!"   
The Texan and the Mexican moved forward and everyone else immediately rose. George pulled out his gun.   
"You might wanna put that away, mister." The Texan glared at George pointing his gun as well.  
  
I was about to move one more car back. No, time to go back. I was getting worried. If they had waved the men off there was no sense staying where I was. And if there was a problem I shouldn't be hiding over here.   
I left and started back towards my friends. Once I could see them through the door I paused to get a good look at the situation.   
Everyone was standing in a stalemate and there were three guns.   
*Stupid Rose! You shouldn't have left!*  
I stuck the idol under a seat and entered the next compartment.  
Everyone immediately looked in my direction. The two strangers glared at me.   
"Hello gentlemen. How may I help you?" I still kept close to the door.  
"Where's our damn statue?"  
"What statue?" *This could be bad.*  
"We know you were in our part of the train and when you left our statue was gone!"  
"It's not a statue. You don't even know what it is, do you? It's an Aztec religious idol! And it's not *yours,* you murdered Reggie Carnahan and his team and you stole it! We know everything! Do you even know what 'Aztec' is? You uneducated, unwashed filth!"  
"Rose! Shut up! Just the bloody hell up!" Maria screeched.  
"Alright then where is it!?" yelled the Texan.  
"You killed people! I'm not giving you your 'statue' back!" I glared back at them daring them to come closer. Well, they came closer.  
George straightened his gun.  
"Statue now." said the Mexican.  
"George, you brought your gun?" I asked.  
"That's what I said!" Mary declared.  
"SHUT UP!" yelled the Mexican. "Where's the fucking statue already?!"  
*Rose, this is your fault again. And your going to fix it.*  
"Do you really want the idol?"  
"Of course, you stupid thievin' bitch." snarled the Texan.  
"Really, really badly?"  
"What up your sleeve woman?" he leered.  
"With this weather? Just sweat really, and my arm of course."  
"Stop trying to be clever bitch!"   
"You're right. You're absolutely right. Instead I think I'll…run. BYE!"  
I dashed out of the car and into the next slamming the door on the Mexican and knocking him over and taking the Texan with him.   
I grabbed the idol and ran through the empty car into the next one with the nice middle-aged couple.  
"Hello! Nice seeing you again! Bye!"  
After I left that car, instead of going into the next I climbed up on top of it trying to grip the idol and climb at the same time, damn was it heavy.  
Once on top of the train, I thought maybe I'd make my way back into my own cabin, or first got to the very front of the train and get them to stop the train and ran the other passengers.  
  
Meanwhile back in our cabin, Manny, Maria, Sammy, Bookie, Danny, and George followed the bandits through the train leaving Mary, Emily and Sonny in the original cabin to guard in case anybody else came in.  
Banging and yelling came from the once empty cabin.  
"Shit!" yelled Mary. "The door's stuck. They must've accidentally locked it! Shit! I can't pry it open!" She waved the pair of scissors she stole from Maria's suitcase. She was using them to break the handle.   
"Lemme help." Sonny came over seeing if the extra muscle would help.  
Emily was a step a head of them. She tried pulling the table installed into the floor of the train, but she wasn't strong enough to get by herself.   
"Mary! Sonny! Help me!"  
The two slightly larger people ran over to help her. The three of them yanked at the table with all their might finally ripping it from the floor.  
They aimed it at the door. "Ready guys?" Emily looked to both of them. "One, two, THREE!!!"   
The door budged only slightly.  
"One more time!"   
The door fell open slamming against the adjoining one. They dropped the table, on Mary's foot.  
"OW!"  
"Sorry." shrugged her friends.  
She quickly recovered and helped Sonny move the door, pushing it off and letting it fly off the locomotive on to the ground behind them.  
The three of them ran into the next car, which by now was empty.  
"Where did they go?" asked Mary. The other two shrugged.  
  
I was unable to head towards the front of the train after I was on top. The Texan and the Mexican had subsequently followed me up there. After dancing and hopping around like a complete fool for several minutes trying to get around them and not fall off the train at the same time I found myself by the ladder I had originally climbed from.  
*Shit! What do I do now?!*  
*Think Rose think! Umm…*  
I stepped back a few feet, tucking my right arm and holding the idol close to my chest, and jumped to the next car.  
I landed on it hard. I felt as if the idol was digging into my ribs, if I didn't break them they were surely bruised. My glasses almost fell off as well.  
I went a few more cars back, getting minimally better at jumping each time. They caught up with me awfully fast. Somehow I suspected they had more experience with this than I did.  
Once on the caboose I started to climb back down on the ladder. I had one had gripping the bar and the other hand holding the idol down on the roof.   
I screeched in pain.  
Someone was stepping on my hand.  
The Texan pulled the idol out from under my hand, but he didn't move his foot at first. He stomped down harder on my hand. I screamed again. Then he finally left me.  
I held my hand to my stomach and winced in pain.   
Just then the locomotive accelerated and I my legs flew out from under me. I gripped the ladder as tight as I could. It took me a minute for me to regain my balance again. I spread my hands on the roof and pushed my glasses back up on my face. The bastards were hopping from car to car with the idol.   
Once I was semi-recovered I climbed around the train and guided myself along the bar outside the car. I refused to believe I had been defeated, but I also dared not take the same route I did before. I didn't want to be seen coming back.  
My hand still hurt badly, but it wasn't broken. I could still grip the bar with it.   
Unfortunately, my hand wasn't the problem the bar was. The steel bar snapped in half with my weight pulling on it. It wasn't supposed do that! It was steel for God's sake!  
Then I looked at the side of bar and read the print. 'Hockley Steel Co.'  
"Figures!"  
I got myself so mad I nearly lost my balance again. I continued my way down the car hugging the side as close as I could.   
Next I decided it would be much smarter to walk through the inside. I didn't care if people saw me. I was in a very bad mood.   
After running through the compartments I finally found my friends again. They were all huddled over Danny.   
"What happened?"  
"I think he broke his ankle." said Maria.  
"Jesus Dan, you scared the hell out of me."  
"Sorry," he smiled and shrugged, "Where's the little idol thing?"  
"They got it. I'll be right back."  
"Where do you think you're going?" asked Sammy.  
"To get it back. It shouldn't be in their hands."  
"You're not the law, Rose." he scolded.  
"I know, but I intend to finish what I started."  
"I'm going with you."  
"What you don't trust me?"  
"You don't know what you're doing."  
"You don't have to *know* what you're doing," Emily interjected, "you just have to look like you know what you're doing…what I mean is it gives you time to figure everything out while keeping everyone else calm."  
"You've got a point there. I'm leaving now." I said. "I can handle it."  
I dashed off before Sammy could catch up with me. I peered up to see them right in front of me. I climbed back on top of the roof. I was directly behind them. I climbed up as silently as I could.  
Once the Mexican climbed down the next ladder I kicked the Texan in the back.  
"YOU BITCH!"  
"Miss me already?" I wrestled him to the ground trying to grab the idol away from him.  
"Get off me you crazy bitch!"  
"That belongs in a museum!"  
He tried to punch me, but I had my heel digging into his side. The heels on women's shoes are generally longer and pointier. Although usually harder to walk in they do come in handy every so often.  
I punched him hard in face and took the idol and ran back the way I came so as not to run into his friend.  
He got up quicker than I would have thought and was right behind me. Eventually I climbed down figuring he be an easier match inside. The next car I entered was a little bit different than the others. It was the one of the circus's the man had mentioned to his wife earlier.  
This particular one was holding a lion.  
"Hello." I moved around it slowly finally gripping the door on the other side. "Nice kitty."  
The sleepy lion seemed slightly disturbed, but not very threatened. Still I left quickly and quietly.   
But after opening the next door I couldn't get through there was a partition blocking the way. In the car over I saw the Texan step in.   
"Shit!"  
I looked up and saw a small cat walk-like structure above the floor of the cabin.   
I quickly pulled myself up to it, first placing the idol on it.   
Once on the cat walk I realized why it was there in the first place. Snakes. Lots of them.  
Snakes never bothered me before so I simply crawled across making my way to the end.  
When I was near the end the Texan joined me, shaking the metal rails.  
It snapped loose on my end and crashed into a section filled with water. I slid down into it soaking my shoes and the bottom of my skirt.  
This particular part of the snake car was occupied by a rather sizable and unhappy creature. It immediately popped out and hissed at me showing its fangs, proving it was indeed poisonous.   
I screamed at it and kicked my way back up and flung myself over into the next box.  
More snakes. Many, many, many more snakes. They were crawling and slithering everywhere. Under me, over me, next to me, on me. I could hear the Texan laughing. I pulled them off and tried, idol in hand, to pull myself back on to the broken cat walk.   
"Give me the idol and I'll help you back up!"  
Another bolt dropped from the side.  
  
The others had chased the Mexican into the cabin with nice couple and their coffee. The Mexican pushed Mary into the wall after she landed him one in the cheek. She landed on Bookie and Danny after knocking her head on the table.  
Emily had finally cornered him by the open door.   
"Come on! Kick my ass! Kick my ass! You can do it! Kick my ass!" She jumped around, egging him on, encouraging him to beat the living shit of her, gesturing with her hands for him to come closer.   
The Mexican, puzzled, just stared at her blankly.  
She took that opportunity to give him a clean right hook.  
Mary, Danny, Bookie jumped up. The little thing could really pack a punch.  
George took over from there and grabbed him up by the shirt collar and tossed him off.   
He turned the shocked couple and looked around.  
"No ticket."  
  
"Give me the idol! I promise I'll help you up."  
I inched myself closer to him.   
*I can't believe I'm doing this.*  
But I had to take my chances. I came a little closer.  
"I don't believe you!"  
"You ain't gotta a choice!"  
I came a little closer again, hoisted by body forward on the broken platform. And I stretched out my hand. Despite the loud noises of train I could the Mexican cursing off in the distance, but his voice soon faded away.  
"Idol first-"  
His head slammed forward into the broken metal platform and he fell over.  
"Manny!"   
"Hola." He gave me a big grin.   
"You saved me."  
He helped me out and over the unconscious Texan.  
"Think of me as your gorgeous knight in shining armor coworker former boyfriend friend."  
I smiled at him and kissed on the cheek. "I love you Manuel you crazy bastard." I hugged him.  
"I knew you couldn't get enough of me." I jabbed him in the arm.   
"Let's go over this car," I gestured to the roof, "there's a lion in that one."  
"For serious?"  
"Do you want to go check?"  
We went up the ladder and over the car. Manny was a little wary at first and very stepping carefully. It was not everyday one walks on top of trains.   
"You're pretty good at this." he commented.  
"Well, I had a lot of practice today."  
When got to the next car which appeared not to contain wild animals we stepped in.   
"Ladies first."   
"Oh I'm no lady," I said, "you know that."  
"I know, but you still look like one."   
"Mierda!" I shouted, "Manny look out!"  
That damn Texan was back!  
"Gimme the statue and I won't shoot."  
I was about to say something, I can't remember exactly what now, but I stopped all movement when I felt something moving around in my shirt. Because of all the excitement before I didn't notice.  
"Uh Manuel?" We took a step back.  
"Yes Rose?" We took another step back.  
"What now?" groaned the Texan.  
"In my blouse…" We continued to back up slowly.  
"Mmmm?" Manny asked nervously wondering what could be so important now that we were being held at gunpoint.  
"Serpiente." I whispered .  
"What dammit?!" growled the Texan.  
"Snake! SNAKE! You God damn idiot! There is a snake in my shirt!"  
I reached down my shirt and pulled it out throwing it at the Texan.  
I grabbed Manny's hand to run when I felt something come down on my head. Then blackness.  
  
I woke up lying on a double seat with a terrible headache. My head was propped up by a pillow.  
"There is an acute pain is the back of my head."  
"Let it never be said that anything could knock the syntax out of Rose Dawson." said Sammy's voice.   
I opened my eyes to see everyone's concerned face crowded around me. I fingered the wet bandage on my head.  
"What am I dead?"  
"Well, that's the popular theory." said a familiar voice.  
"Hello Mrs. Brown." I greeted the new face.  
"Hello Rose."  
"It's nice surprise."  
"Likewise, and it's surprise alright."  
"W-what happened? Where am I?"  
"The uh guy hit you in the head with the butt of his gun," said George, "he ran out of bullets so he hit you and tried to take the idol but Manuel here just knocked the hell out of him."  
"Just like my hero." Manny smiled.  
"You'll be fine. You just have a pretty nasty concussion. And a bruised hand. Oh and probably a couple broken ribs." Danny said.  
"Oh, alright then. How long was I out?" I was asking Danny but I kept my eyes on Molly Brown.  
"Just a few hours, but Mrs. Brown here…" Dan looked at each of us, "well, I guess you two have met, but anyway she had some smelling salts and some clean towels.  
"Thank you Molly. Thank you."  
"You're more than welcome. You'll be fine just doing what you're doing."  
"I have been."  
Nobody else really understood our conversation, but I suppose they knew they weren't meant to.  
"Let's her rest now," she said everyone else, "she's had enough excitement for one day." When everyone cleared out she turned to me. "Can I talk to you later?"  
"Yeah."  
"Here you go, darlin'." She lifted the back of my head and moved the pillows to a more comfortable position.  
"Thank you again."  
"Here, thank me by getting some rest and not touching that nasty wound of yours."  
I hadn't noticed, but I'd been poking at it.  
She stayed with me until I fell asleep again. 


	10. Columbus

"It's funny," I said, "in movies or nickelodeons no one ever gets hurt or injured when trying to stop a robbery or hanging off moving trains and it's much more exciting than scary." I was curled up into a ball. Just like when we crossed the gulf to get home I stayed on the deck (in case of emergency) but stayed quiet and rarely moved.  
"And no one ever sees it as insane."  
"Maybe it was, but I was trying to do the right thing."  
"What's with the glasses?"  
"Brain damage from the effects of severe hypothermia." I said distantly.  
"Brain damage?"  
"Just my eyesight, and only slightly. I'm still very clever. A relatively small price to pay for what happened. Don't you think?"  
"Yes it is. Rose *Dawson*?"  
"Rose Dawson is my name."  
"How did you acquire it?"  
"I borrowed it from a friend." There was a silence…a long silence. I had to think how I was going to word my story. What happened that night, although she must have had a pretty good idea, and also the past four years. I realized there wasn't a need for words, so I kept it brief. I looked straight into her eyes. "He didn't make it." I shook my head slightly.  
Her face twisted. She assumed all along neither of us had made it, but she still seemed pained. I blinked my eyes slowly, looked toward the window, then back at her.  
"He was a good boy."  
"I know." I gripped my shirt with my good hand. Would it always be this overwhelming?  
"Dawson," she thought aloud, "clever of you." More silence. It was a longer silence too. "So much for small talk." sighed Mrs. Brown.  
I smiled. "May I ask a question of you now?"  
"Go right ahead." She sighed and sat down.  
"Where's my-"  
"Still living on East River Drive, let most of the servants go. The compensation from the White Star Line and contributions from the Hockley family paid off all the debts. She doesn't go out much. I make it a point to visit her when I'm in town. Saw her last spring, doin' a little better."  
"Oh."  
"Would you like me to report anything to her the next time I see her?"  
"No, if she's to know she'll know by seeing me."  
"What have you been doing all this time?"  
"Living my life. It's a new experience for me, but I'm getting quite good at it. But I haven't run for office." Mrs. Brown ran, unsuccessfully, for Senate in 1914.   
She laughed at my comment. "Dead people can't run for anything."  
"Oh I'm very much alive." I tried to sit up straight. Pain. "If not a little banged up."  
I didn't mind sitting out of the limelight unlike my larger associate.  
"It's good to know your doin' well, even if you don't quite look it." She paused.  
"I didn't know you for that long, but I don't think I've ever seen you look the slightest bit uncomfortable before." I grinned.  
"It's not everyday one sits down and has a chat with the living dead."  
"We didn't meet on an everyday crossing. I suppose we'll just have to have a non-everyday relationship."  
She laughed. "I like you Rose Dawson."   
"I like you too Molly Brown."  
"Old Ruth's doin' better, but she could use a boost."  
"You said that already."  
"I know I'm just emphasizing my point."  
"Then I'll take under heavy consideration."  
"Well, now that I seem to be the main source of information, are you at all curious about what happened to-"  
"No."  
"Not even a little bit?"  
"Not even a little bit."  
"Well, how about this, you tell me what you've been doing the past four years and I'll tell you about what I've been doing."  
"Sounds fair."  
  
***  
  
After long, strange, but happy talk with Mrs. Brown it was almost time to leave.   
"Almost time, I suppose you'll want to go back to your friends."  
"Yes." I said. I followed the sound of Emily Dawson's laughter, even more girlish than Mary's, but an octave lower, she had a soft, smooth voice.   
It was just a few hours until I would see them no more. I got up and walked to the next cabin. I sat with them again and talked like we always did. We talked about regular silly things, the silly things we'd done, the hot sauce, The Piece of Shit, the cranes, weekend nights, my annoying arrogance, Mary's annoying logic, Maria's annoying work ethic, Manny's annoying laziness, Sammy's annoying calmness, Bookie's annoying sarcasm. What would annoy me now? Not them.   
They were my home for two years. *They* were my Columbus. We had to move on, raid or no raid, it was time. I was leaving my first real family. Here were six people that saw eye to eye, leaned on each other, supported each other, depended on each other, not only did we love one another, but we *liked* each other.  
This was a different kind of pain, separation from my friends, I would miss them terribly and I'd be lucky to even run into one of them again.  
After the train stopped and we got off I bid the Unsinkable Molly Brown herself farewell and went back to my friends. She told me should I ever be Colorado to look her up. I liked that woman.   
"George get paper." Mary ordered.   
"Lemme check my bag." he said reaching for it.  
"It's not gonna be this way," said Mary, "I may be the only one, but I've got an actual address." George handed her a few pieces of crumpled up notebook paper. Mary took and twirled a pencil putting one the papers to the wall and began writing. "Guys," she turned to Emily, George, and Sonny, "just in case my parents still decide to bar me from home, which according to their letters they might consider it, can I use your addresses?" The three nodded.  
She ripped the pages to make more and handed a copy to each of us.  
"Nice thinking McBride." Bookie smiled.  
"As soon as any of you derelicts finds a place to live you write back, y'here?"  
"Yes ma'am." Sammy nodded.  
She turned to the Sanchezes, "Do you need one or two?"   
"Two," said Maria, "inspector here will lose it."  
"Will not."  
"Will too."  
"Will not bastardita."  
"I'll give you two anyway. Soon we'll have this all organized and we'll all know everyone else's addresses."  
I smiled warmly. Smart girl. She always was.   
We stayed together as one for another hour. George, Emily, Danny, and Sonny, although they hadn't see Mary for a year and a half, knowing they would have her back soon, let us alone, wandering around the station of their own free will.  
But an hour rolled by faster than a sigh. A lifetime of two years would come to an end. The first train came to take Sammy, Manny, and Maria away. It was finally time to say goodbye.  
"See you around Rose Dawson." Manny said to me.  
"See you around Manuel Sanchez."  
"Maybe we'll get married sometime."  
"Maybe."  
"McBride," Maria said to Mary, "when we're in Santa Fe, do you want us to say hello to Jake for you?"  
"You guys are so mean." she grinned.  
"But that's what makes us so wonderful." Maria grinned back.  
"I think Bookie's the meanest though." Sammy commented.  
"I'm not mean, I'm funny. Sorry if it comes at the expense of the rest you sorry lot." he retorted.  
"And I think Rose thinks she's the meanest." Manny added.  
"Do not."  
"Do too." said Maria.  
"I think Sammy and Mary think they're the nicest." I said pointing a finger at someone else.  
"I am." said Sammy and Mary causing everyone into to burst into laughter. But the laughter was soon followed by a long, sad silence. The long, sad silence followed by individual embraces and goodbyes.  
As a group we hugged one last time. Everyone managed to keep composure until Mary let out one short sob, she quickly repressed it, but it was followed by more sobs and sniffles not of her own. The little sobs and sniffles soon led to loud sobs and hot tears.   
I wanted stay there with them forever. During my two years in Columbus 'friend' became a sweeter word than I had ever known, family took a more beautiful meaning. Six people, far from perfect, all wonderful together and in their own ways.  
After forever, which wasn't nearly long enough, Maria, Sammy, and Manny boarded the train. More last minute goodbyes. As for me Manny gave me one last real kiss before he left, Maria told me not to slack off, and Sammy rubbed my head-the only person to ever really think of me as 'a kid.' We waved them goodbye, screaming "We love you!" and every inside joke we could recall at each other, and then they disappeared into the setting sun.  
"They're gone." Mary squeaked softly, "…it's so hard to believe they're gone."  
  
***   
  
Twenty minutes later the train headed for New York arrived. It was time for Mary and Bookie to leave.  
"Bye Gabriel."  
"Don't call me Gabriel."   
More hugs, more tears.  
"Come with us." Mary pleaded. "You're the only who will always be alone.  
"No." I said softly, shaking my head. "There's a place I need to go. And I'm never alone, I promise." I looked behind toward my beloved's flesh, blues eyes flashing. *What of Emily?* I looked down at the paper in my hand, I knew then what to make of that. Best to organize my own thoughts before sharing them with her.  
"Then visit…or else."  
"I will."  
"You too Bookie, after you leave I mean." she said.  
"Aye, Aye, skipper."   
"Watch out for those snakes." Mary warned me.  
"I will."  
"And always clean up your knickers after intercourse." Bookie shook a finger.  
"I'll do that too. And you find another tin lizzy and make it run better." I said to him.  
"Will do."  
"And you Mare, if you dump George at the altar, at least give *him* the bouquet, not the priest."  
"Depends, George is allergic to certain flower pollens." She paused before giving me one last hug. "You look like shit." She referred to my injuries. I smiled out of the corner of my mouth.  
They boarded the train not long after that. I said goodbye to Danny, Emily, Sonny, and George too. They thanked me for the *interesting* ride. I waved them goodbye in the same manner as before. This time after they were gone I was alone.   
"They're gone." I repeated Mary's words.  
It was another hour before the train destined for Santa Monica would arrive. I was left with my thoughts. I sat alone, bothered by no one. The night was dry and pleasantly cool. Sometimes I laughed, sometimes I cried, but it was mostly laughing, even when I thought about our quarrels. Once, over something so stupid I can't remember, the entire house stopped talking to one another. My feelings were so overwhelmingly bittersweet. I was lucky to have them and to have shared a home with them. I wished the best for them. God knows they deserved it.   
My train pulled right on time. I boarded and set mine things down. I was going to Santa Monica. I was ready for the horizon. I hoped, just a little bit, that it was ready for me. 


	11. Aspirations

Morning in California. The West Coast. The Horizon. Welcome to Santa Monica Rose Dawson.   
I felt as if a chapter in my life had closed. But now a new one had opened up before me. I'd miss my friends, but I was excited.  
But for the moment I was at peace in my little hotel room by the sea. Days of trains. From Galveston to Houston, Houston to Dallas, Dallas to Los Angeles. Now I was glad to sleep someplace that didn't move.  
I made plans for myself that day, plans that consisted of roller coasters, horseback riding, the beach, and low-quality alcohol.   
*What shall I do here in California?* I thought to myself. Perhaps I'd find a job here. In a restaurant? God knows I had experience with that. But I had to remind myself I wouldn't be working for Maria, although she herself could be quite scary at times. But waitressing seemed like a good start. But I'd start my job search in a few days.   
Although working as a clerk or a waitress down by the shore seemed quite pleasant I had my sights set on a bigger fish.  
Initially, I wanted to return to acting as I had in New York and see if I could maybe break into the film industry. I had bit of a reputation in Manhattan, a very small one, mostly among the bohemian types, but a reputation nonetheless.   
But there was something else I had always wanted. Something I had been so close to before. I had gone to the best schools, trained in the sciences as well as the arts. When I graduated from Miss Clement's Academy for Ladies in 1911 I thought I was headed straight for Radcliff. Unfortunately, my father's debt made that impossible. I wanted to be an educated person. I wanted a skill. I wanted to learn something.   
Financially, I could afford an education. College tuitions were not so outrageous then. I had some of the money I'd been able to scrap up from Columbus, the money I earned in Galveston, and my large "savings account" I silently referred to as my "pocket money."  
*Hmmm,* I thought rolling out of bed. "Let's see," I said aloud, pulling out all my money. "I can do this."  
  
***  
  
The weather was perfect, the smell of the air, the sea breeze. Gorgeous. I wandered around town with that sentiment for a while until I realized I was lost, then I continued as I was anyway. It didn't matter, I'd find my way back when I needed to.   
Luckily, my aimlessness got me somewhere. I found my way down by the pier ready to board a roller coaster. Waiting in line I met my future ride buddies.   
"Ever been on one of these things before?" A woman about my age turned to me.   
"Oh no, never." I waved my hand.  
"Me neither. Aren't you nervous? You seem as relaxed as him." She motioned her head to a little boy behind us. He had fallen asleep in father's arms.  
"Of course I am, but that's half the fun isn't it?"  
"I guess so," she laughed, "I'm Ellen Sobel."  
"Rose Dawson." We shook hands.   
"Oh, this is Rick." She nudged the man next to her.  
"Hi," he said, "Rick Calvert."  
"Rose Dawson. Nice to meet you…Calvert, do you have a brother in Manhattan, a cop?"  
"George?"  
"Yes!" I thought I heard mention of George's brother Richard in California.   
"Wait a minute," he said, "Rose Dawson…the body?"  
I smiled and shook my head. "Yes, that's me."  
"Yeah, your one of George's favorite stories." said Ellen.  
"Now we're hearing about some trouble you caused on a train." Rick smiled.  
"I didn't cause it…maybe I didn't really help it either, but what can I say." *Wait, train…idol…* With all the excitement over the idol we had all completely forgotten the idol. In retrospect I should have sent it to New York with Mary, but I would have to figure out where to send it when I got home. Maybe I'd track down Mrs. Brown, she'd see it to a proper museum.  
I had an Aztecan idol, King Louie's Heart of the Ocean, and the belongings of a dead woman in my room. I could have started my own museum.  
"We're up!" Rick shouted.  
I was about to grab my own seat when Ellen and Rick offered to sit with them. I took my seat next Rick.  
"The brave man sitting in the comfort spot between two women." Ellen narrated.  
"Well, Ellie, I guess you're just so very strong and masculine that I need your protection."   
"Listen to this man." Ellen shook her head.  
"I can't say much boyfriends either. One big chore." *Manny…* I shook my head and smiled.  
"Oh, it's a bit worse than that I'm afraid." She showed her engagement ring. It was quite nice, a garnet, not tiny, but not gaudy.   
"Well, at least it's nice ring." I grinned.  
"Now if only it went with a nice man."  
"I'm too rugged to be 'nice.'"   
Ellen I both burst out in laughter. Ellen kissed her man on the cheek as we began to move forward.  
"Here we go." I said trying to control my excitement.  
Next we were dropping up and down rolling through the tracks at high speeds.   
"This is the big one!" shouted Rick. He'd been on this roller coaster alone about thirteen times.  
"WAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!" We hollered in unison. I threw my arms in the air and closed my eyes letting the wind pull my arms and hair into the heavens.  
After our third ride we decided to go down the stables. I was only slightly disappointed that I did not throw up afterwards. *Perhaps I should I had a snack right before…But no matter!*  
"El, what are you doing?" Rick asked his fiancée.  
Ellen appeared to be riding sidesaddle. "I always wanted to know how people do this and-ooofff!" She slid of and landed right on her butt. "…stayed on."  
"Are you alright?" we asked.  
"I'm fine." Rick got down to help her.  
I could've given her a few pointers, but I chose not to.  
We started riding together slowly at first until I spotted the shore up ahead.  
"Come on! Let's go down there. We'll ride right in the surf!"  
"Wait Rose!" Ellen shouted after me as I rode up ahead of them.  
I ran my horse up the shoreline until Rick and Ellen caught up with me. The horse seemed as enthusiastic as I was. He seemed kick the water up in my face on purpose.  
"You're nice and wet now." Rick commented.   
I just grinned at them.  
"Listen, Rose you're welcome to join us for lunch if you'd like."  
"Oh sure."  
"Did somebody say lunch?" Rick chimed.  
We started to ride on when Rick stopped us before we came toward the roller coaster.  
"Wait there!" He pointed to me. "Perfect shot!" He pulled his bag around reached for his camera. "Smile!"  
  
***  
  
"Anything to drink?" asked the waiter.  
"Yes," I said thoughtfully, "give me the nastiest, cheapest, most God awful beer you have." He raised his eyes as did Ellen and Rick.  
"Long story." I shrugged.  
When our food came around the waiter laid my beer right in front of me. I took a sip.  
"How's it taste, partner?" Rick inquired.  
"It's positively disgusting!" I announced with a certain level of delight.  
"Happy now?" Ellen laughed.  
"Absolutely!" I took several more gulp and turned toward my new friends, smirking. "Ah! Perfect."  
After lunch Ellen and Rick went off to a prior engagement. It turned out Rick's apartment was not far from where I was staying. We made plans to meet again the following week.  
  
***  
  
I wandered freely through town for the rest of the afternoon, just exploring. At around seven o'clock I found myself down at the pier again. I walked on straight to the end.  
I leaned against the railing. I shook my hair loose of its ponytail letting the ocean breeze ripple through my hair.  
*It's so beautiful.* I thought staring into the sunset. "So beautiful." I whispered.  
It had been four years since I'd seen such a breath-taking sunset. I climbed over and sat on the wooden rail. "Come Josephine in my flying machine, and it's up she goes, up she goes, balance yourself like a bird on a beam, in the air she goes, there she goes, up up a little bit higher, oh my the moon is on fire, come Josephine…"  
The memory surrounded me. Nothing out in front of me but ocean and the sensation of Jack's chest on my back and his breath on my neck.  
I felt my own voice trail off as if listening to someone else. I stared out ahead toward the ocean. It was a warm summer evening. A swim might have seemed a perfectly splendid idea, but as beach invited me, something bade me to stay where I was.   
*Foolish you.* I thought. I was right on shore that very day. My horse even managed to douse me with seawater. In the spring I had even managed to get myself on a boat no less, and maintain my nerves, barely, but still successful.  
But there was something about being submerged. Surrounded, with no sides of a bathtub to reassure me, no floor to walk onto. Submerged and helpless, surrounded by nature's most unmerciful lady. I looked out at the swimmers and boaters paddling and laughing in the water. I wondered if they knew how helpless they were.   
But how helpless we all were everyday. They should be laughing and enjoying life.   
  
***  
  
I stayed at the pier for another hour people watching. It was always one of my favorite hobbies, especially when I was sad.   
Back in my room I pulled out the Heart of the Ocean again. I laid it out in front of me on the bed. It occurred to me I hadn't actually worn it in years. I thought of wearing it around my neck for a minute just because, but found that I couldn't quite bring myself to do it.   
I put it away again and crawled underneath the covers. I pulled the blanket over my head leaving only my face sticking out. I hadn't felt this comfortable in long time.   
Oddly enough I felt a hot tear streaming down my cheek. I'd been crying for a while before I actually noticed it. I did, however, immediately notice the familiar aching in my arms. Then, as it always did, it spread to my chest and legs, and eventually overtook my whole body.   
I fell asleep not long after that, haunted by the memory of a familiar smell, knowing that I'd never truly sense that scent again.  
  
***  
  
The next week I found a job waiting tables in a small café. I moved into a cheap apartment three blocks away. I worked everyday from eight to eight except Thursdays and Sundays. And, without fail, I went to at least one audition every Sunday and Thursday for three weeks.  
By mid-August I hadn't managed to land any roles, not even as an extra. I knew it was early in the game so I didn't fret much over it. By this point I'd nearly given up any hopes of attending college, which I initially chose to do first before I decided to go back into acting.  
Unfortunately, I had no way of proving I had an education without exposing myself. Dead people don't run for office, and they don't go to school either. Well, I could be Rose DeWitt Bukater and be dead, or I could be Rose Dawson and not exist. I was one of the two, at least on paper.   
But it was that same time around mid-August that my luck changed. That's when I met Gigi.   
Gigi DuBois was an up and coming Hollywood film star. On screen her natural charm, her round, boyish face and girlish smile delighted audiences. Off screen her natural charm, talent for manipulation, and drinking problem left no one questioning her motives.  
Miss DuBois made it a hobby of wandering aimlessly around Santa Monica for hours on end. One day she wandered past the café as I was leaving work.   
"I know you." said a voice behind me. I turned around. Strangely, I didn't know her. "You were at the studio yesterday."  
"Yes I was." I tried to think of something else to say to this person.  
"I'm Gigi. Gigi DuBois. You haven't heard of me…yet."  
"Well, I guess I've heard of you now. I'm Rose Dawson."  
"I know. I'm the star of the picture you were auditioning for. I'm just previewing my co-star." I looked at her like she must be mad. "You got the part. They weren't going to tell until tomorrow, but I found you here so I guess you ought to know."  
"Oh…I…I…" I broke myself off and smiled. It wasn't a large part. I would play Edith to Gigi's Cora Smith in "A Day in the Park." It was a short film about ditsy girl who causes trouble in you guessed it, a park. Edith is Cora's proper older sister who appears only in the first scene.   
"Come on let's celebrate." Gigi was naturally excited. Her contract had her making four films with the studio. This was her third one, the next would be a full length feature and would probably lead her to full blown stardom and a larger, more lucrative contract.  
  
***  
  
"I'm going to be the next Mary Pickford. Only bigger." Gigi announced after her fourth shot."  
"Getting a little cocky, are we?"  
"No, give me a few more of these. Then you'll see cocky."  
"Darn," I sighed, "that was my last cigarette."  
"Oh, I don't buy my own cigarettes anymore."  
"You don't?" I asked suspiciously.  
"No fun that way." Gigi had a particular way of flirting for everything she needed. Her greatest talent seemed to be for making men her little playthings. By the end of the evening I found myself pulling her away from two young men and forcing her drunken self into a cab. It wasn't an easy task. She could be pretty ruthless for a nineteen year-old.   
Luckily, she was sober enough to remember her address. At least I hoped it was her address.  
  
***  
  
A week later we filmed the picture. She could be difficult and diva-like, but she took a particular liking to me so I was spared her wrath for the most part. I only showed up for one day to film my scene, but after Gigi still came to visit me and take me out drinking.   
One night we got drawn into a conversation about my wanting to go to college.  
"I can't. Or at least I can't figure how."  
"Why?"  
"Well, you see…Dawson isn't my legal name."  
"Then use your real name when you apply. Do you think 'Gigi DuBois' is my real name?"  
"I didn't change my name for acting…it's very complicated. Let's just say I'll have legal issues. I can't use my real name and I have nothing with this one."  
"Not if you make the papers yourself."  
What did she say? "Excuse me?"  
"My friend does it all the time. Mostly fake licenses, like law and dentistry."  
"Well that's comforting, Gig."  
"He can get you a birth certificate and a diploma from where ever it was you graduated from, not to mention he write official letters, like say if you want the dean of your school to write a letter of recommendation. He's that good."  
"Where in the hell do you find these people?"  
"Honey, I've dated half the con-artists in Southern California."  
"You're a real piece of work you know that?"  
"So you want me to call my friend?" I hugged her. "Uh Rose? Loosen up. Gigi needs to breathe. Rose?"  
  
***  
  
The next week I had my diploma from Miss Clement's Academy dated 1911, a letter from the Dean talking about me, it didn't say much except that Miss Rose Dawson had graduated fifth in her class, (actually Rose DeWitt Bukater had, but hopefully no one would check), and a birth certificate for Rose Cornelia Dawson born February 24, 1895 in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. The state seal used on my birth certificate was the only flaw. It was adopted in 1907. 


	12. Aspirations

Things were going well for all my Columbus friends. Mary's plan had worked and we were all in contact with one another. Manny and Maria moved in with their cousin Sarita and her husband and had found work in San Diego. There wasn't anything worth returning to in Columbus. Sammy was slightly disappointed to find himself back on the Rez, but was glad to be with his sisters again and planned to leave again soon. Bookie found an apartment in Manhattan near Mary. He would go back to England after the New Year. Mary and George got engaged. Mr. and Mrs. Calvert sure had their hands full. Two of their three sons would be getting married in the year to come. Only the youngest, Dave, had yet to find the right girl. Still, at fifteen, he had time.   
As for myself I was on the road to becoming an educating woman. Upon passing an examination I was accepted to the California State Normal School in San José and moved there in September. I was going to be a teacher.  
College was interesting. I was older than most of my classmates. Most people started college at sixteen back then. It was the first time in my life I had set a long-term goal for myself. It felt strangely satisfying. But the most satisfying part was finally making 'Rose Dawson' official.  
While working hard at my studies I also worked on a personal project, a letter to Emily and Joe Dawson. For months it was a pile of crumpled up pieces of paper all starting off with "Dear Mr. and Miss Dawson." Nothing seemed to come of it. I wasn't sure how to go about this. I was a stranger to these people trying to tell them that their cousin and nephew was dead and that I loved him more than words could express. Yet strangely enough, in my attempts to tell my and Jack's story to his family I was able work out most of the ordeal for myself. For the first time I was able to completely organize my thoughts on the matter. Still, it was hard. I wasn't sure how to approach it. I barely knew Emily and I'd never met her father.  
By mid-semester I had decided to switch careers. The medical profession interested me more than teaching. I had made my choice to transfer. My efforts had paid off. Good marks and recommendations had gotten me into the University of Maryland. I moved back East immediately after the holiday break and was in Baltimore before Christmas. I would start training to be a nurse once classes resumed in January.  
I settled into a boarding house that December. Students attending the School of Nursing were expected to work at the University Hospital from the day they arrived. Between school, work at the hospital, writing letters to my friends, and attempting to construct that disastrous letter to the Dawsons I had almost no free time.  
1916 had been a hell of a year. My home was destroyed, I became a Villista, my friends and I discovered murder victims, I attacked two bandits and stole back an ancient religious idol and nearly fell off a train in the process, rode on my first roller coaster, filmed a movie, and started college.   
Most of 1917 seemed relatively uneventful in comparison, at least in my life.  
Besides the start of the Great War, in which the United States declared war on Germany exactly five years to the day that I met Jack, any events that happened that year that would shape my life I would not find out until the following.   
Otherwise it was relatively uneventful except for getting another year older and learning to fly.  
  
***  
  
It wasn't until the summer that I could finally relax. Coming home from class on the last day of the 1916-1917 school year at the University of Maryland I found a letter from Gigi waiting for me at the boarding house.  
"Do you really know Gigi DuBois?" asked Philip, another boarder. Gigi was a full-blown star now.  
"Of course she does," answered Julie, yet another boarder who lived across the hall from me, "she was in that picture with her…the one with the girl…she was…the other girl. You know!"  
I smiled and shook my head and sifted through the rest of my mail.  
"Oh my!" I said. Inside was the usual letter from Gigi, a train ticket, and cash. She wanted me to come visit her in California. She was never subtle about these things. "Crazy girl."  
"Gee, she can really do that?" Julie said looking over my shoulder at the contents of the envelope.  
"She always does." I shook my head.  
Nothing was ever private in this particular boarding house. Everything time I opened my mail there was always somebody wanting to know what was going on. I didn't mind them so much even if they did get somewhat annoying from time to time. And because I had been in a movie I was a favorite among the resident busybodies.  
  
***  
  
"This is going to be the most fun ever!" Gigi ran up ahead of me, but not for long. I soon caught up to her.   
I took a week off from the hospital and stayed with Gigi for two weeks. I spent most those two weeks bouncing around ritzy areas of Los Angeles and pestering her with all the medical jargon I'd learned. By the end of the second week she threatened to dump 400 cc's of gasoline on my head.  
Gigi was not your typical tale of a girl from a humble beginning who made it big in Hollywood. She was a California native and her family had money.   
While visiting her that summer we spent a weekend on her grandfather's estate. This particular day Mr. Pastor had agreed to teach us how to fly his airplane. Pastor was Gigi's real name. Gretchen Glen "Gigi" Pastor.  
After an hour of poking around the plane and showing us how it worked and giving us instructions it was time to take her out for some fresh air.   
First Grandpa Pastor flew with Gigi as his passenger, then with me. Then Gigi flew me around. As much fun as I was having I was getting impatient. I couldn't wait to fly myself. Finally my turn came.   
Grandpa Pastor had flown many times before; he even built the plane himself. Gigi had flown a few times before during her other visits. As for myself, it was my first experience with airplanes in my life. Needless to say Mr. Pastor was a little timid about having a rookie fly his baby.  
Once in the air I couldn't contain myself.   
"Ha!"  
"I see we put the child in the candy store!" Gigi shouted over the noise.  
"This one of the most exhilarating things I've done in my life! I'm flying! I'm a pilot!"  
"Yes you are, sweetie."  
I must have given poor Mr. Pastor a heart attack. Needless to say I flew a little recklessly…and for a long time. I didn't take her down until we started to run out of fuel. At least I landed it without a hitch.  
"Say 'I'm a pilot' again and I swear to God…" Gigi feigned an evil glare.   
"My legs are shaking. This is wonderful!" I said with dizzy excitement.   
"Alright girls. Let's save the moment." Laughed Mr. Pastor. He took out his camera. He took a few of Gigi and me, I took one of the two of them, and Gigi shot one of me posing victoriously next to the plane looking like a real pilot.   
The next morning he let us take out his baby again before we left. I hogged the plane again not giving Gigi much of a chance. She didn't seem to mind so much. She found my enthusiasm wildly amusing. I liked her when she was around her family. Like on screen, her innocence and sweetness actually seemed honest for once.  
  
***  
  
By the spring of 1918 I received my nursing certificate and registered in the State of Maryland.  
After war had been declared the Army called upon University Hospitals across America to form base hospitals. Within the University of Maryland hundreds of nurses applied and one hundred were selected for Base Hospital 42. I was among them.  
On July 14, 1918, the nineteenth birthday of Emily Dawson-a birthday so narrowly missed by her cousin six years earlier, the nurses of Base Hospital 42 sailed from New York City aboard the White Star Liner Baltic.  
What an oddly familiar setting. It was the second time I found myself on a boat since my Titanic ordeal. This time I was required to wear a lifebelt at all times due to the possibility of German sub attacks. I happily obliged.  
Going into it, my thoughts were different on this war. The war in Mexico seemed trivial compared to this. Nothing is black and white, but there was a more righteous side in this war. Some wars need to be fought. There are worse things than war. Slavery is worse than war. Tyranny is worse than war. I had a skill that was needed where my country's, as well as other countries' soldiers fought and sacrificed themselves.   
When the thought had finally hit me that I'd find myself on an ocean liner again I made my decision. I would go if I had to. True, there would always be a part of me that was scared, but that would have to be overcome. And if took sailing on every boat, leaving myself floating in the middle of every ocean, and taking ice cold baths everyday for the rest of my earthly life I'd do it. I would conquer this. I was stronger than it. There was a risk in walking out the door in the morning. I would not let myself be swayed into my shell because of a bad experience no matter how horrifying.   
I did it with thought of my whole life in mind, but it was especially important at this moment in time. I didn't think it was going to be pretty, but I had no idea that what I'd see over the next four months would be even more horrifying than the Titanic. I was about to make myself witness to the largest, most terrifying war the modern world had known. 


	13. Over There

On August 1 we arrived in Bazoilles and began our work as A.E.F. nurses. I had made it safely across the Atlantic. I'd done it. By the time we docked the only thing bothering was my wool uniform.  
We quickly set up in Bazoilles-Sur-Meuse and went to work. Bazoilles was home to seven American Hospitals.  
The heat was terrible still. I tugged at my uniform squirming in my sweat as I stepped off the gangway.  
"I used to feel very proper and important in this, but now I'd rather be naked." The woman next to me smiled. Her name was Ada May Johnson. She was another student I knew from the University.  
I laughed. "I know what you mean."   
Personally, I couldn't wait to change into my other uniform, the one I wore when I was actually at work. At least it was a lighter material and color and would reflect the heat rather than absorb it.  
"Rose, did you…" I missed the rest of what Ada was saying. I heard someone say "Vanderbilt." Someone was probably just casually making reference to them. They were a powerful and well-known family and unlike the DeWitt Bukaters they hadn't fallen. Still, it caught my attention. It was my mother's maiden name. Therefore, I was one.   
"…what?"  
"Did you borrow my brush? I couldn't find it before."  
"Oh…no."  
My mother would have a heart attack if she knew what I was doing or what I was for that matter. Though, keeping in mind the patriotic fervor back home, most may have considered a nurse in the American Expeditionary Forces more respectable than a then a widowed hermit that lives off of other people's money.  
My father considered my education as a way of showing how much smarter his daughter was than most of his associates. Mother always said the purpose of university was to find a suitable husband. I hoped she wouldn't be too disappointed to learn that my education was being put into action-literally.  
The thought of my parents and college usually depressed me. As much tension may have been between during my early years they were still my parents. I knew if my mother really knew what I was doing she would be proud of me, (but she would still have heart attack-and probably only partially due to the fact that I could be killed, but more because I that hadn't been killed already six years ago.)   
No one had come to see my graduation. During the ceremony I was with the girls I knew from school, but after I went back home. I didn't have enough time to notify my friends and drag them down to Maryland. And I hadn't heard from Sammy or Mary in months, but I was busy too with school.  
  
***  
  
The first week was mostly torturous. We carried out normal hospital and worked our shifts, but there were no patients yet. We knew they would come, but for now it was just waiting. I had never seen war injuries before. I knew not even the traumatically ailing patients I encountered at the hospital back home would prepare for what I was in for this time.  
Within one week we received our first patients. These were not seriously ill, mostly walking cases. It was not the injuries of this particular batch that would stun me the most, but the three coincidences that awaited me. These coincidences came in the form of men.   
The first recognized me before I recognized him. He was pale and unshaven with a lower-leg mauled from shrapnel. He was probably our worst case. Luckily, we were able to remove almost all of it. He'd be walking again on his own soon enough.  
While wrapping his new bandages I felt something tugging at my skirt. I put my hand on his to calm him and lowered it to the side of the bed. Once I finished I moved myself over to his head. Something about this one was bothering me.  
He stretched out his arm and touched his hand to my face. He removed my glasses and then my hat tugging my curls and moving my face into a more viewable position.   
I moved a tuft of black hair from his eyes. As soon as I saw into the pale eyes I knew who he was. I hadn't seen him in over six years. I had only met him a few times, but I remember liking him.   
"Hol…"  
*Holden.*  
"You?" He said after nearly a minute of staring.  
"Yes." I nodded my head solemnly.   
"How? It can't be." He said weakly.   
"My shift ends in twenty minutes I'll be back then." I got up moving in a daze. "Just try and get some rest." I left him there like that.  
*Alright, what am I doing? Private Bender needs an extra blanket. Bender. Blanket. Bender. Blanket. Holden. Hockley. Holden Hockley. Jesus Christ!*  
Thank God I didn't have to be in surgery. After my shift ended I went back to Holden.  
"Are you feeling up for a walk, Corporal Hockley?"  
"Am I able to?"  
"You're getting stronger. We don't want the leg getting too weak. Give it some exercise. We'll go slow."  
I helped him up and led him outside letting him lean on me for support.  
"Nice day." He said looking up, squinting his eyes toward the sun.  
"Sorry I took so long. I got held up."  
"I asked for you but they said there was no one here by that name."  
"It's Dawson now."  
"I thought you nurses here couldn't be married."  
"I'm not."  
"Widowed?"  
"Not technically. Watch your step here." I directed him.  
"Can I sit down now?"  
"Not yet…only one other person knows. My mother doesn't know. Your brother-"  
"Half-brother."  
"Sorry, your 'half-brother' doesn't know either."  
He stared vaguely and spoke after a time. "Jesus. You faked your own death."  
"In a way I suppose."  
"Well, I guess you did a pretty good job of it."  
  
"Thanks…I suppose."  
"I won't tell anyone…if that's what you want."  
"Do what you like. They don't scare me now."  
"Please don't mind me saying this, but…"  
"Mmm?"  
"Cal and Ruth may not be on my list of favorite people, but I think your particular plan for a break up may have been a little extreme."  
"Watch it. That's my mother you're talking about."  
"This from the woman who let's her believe her only child is dead."  
"You can sit down now." I pulled an occupied chair toward us and slammed it down rather curtly in front of him and pointed.  
"I see I've struck a nerve."  
"I've got plenty more if you want to try me."  
"Christ, and I went to your God damn funeral too."  
"I was your brother's fiancée. Why the hell wouldn't you?"  
"It was pretty nice. Cal gave the eulogy. It was actually rather sweet. Odd for him, but not as good as the one you gave for your father. Then we went back to your family's house and they served that really disgusting English sausage you always liked."  
"Oh I love those. I haven't had them in years."  
"Well, you should have gone. They had piles of it."  
"I don't think they were expecting me."  
"Would've been a great surprise."  
"Yes, Holden, barrels of laughs."  
I sat down on the grass next to him. Another soldier in his unit came up to him.  
"How's the leg Hoppin' Holden? And who's the nurse? Damn!"  
Holden shook his head. "Tobey, this is Rose. Rose, this is Tobey Jackson."  
"Rose Dawson. Nice to meet you."  
"And it is really nice to meet you. Whoa, here comes the Serge." Tobey pointed with both hands. He spoke in a very relaxed and unmistakable manner, slurring through his words.   
"George!" I looked up stunned.  
His face dropped as soon as he saw me. I questioned him with my eyes.  
"I need to talk to you." he said in a way few would dare to challenge.  
"I can't leave him alone." I motioned to Holden.  
"I'll be fine."  
"No, I'm not allowed to leave you unattended."  
"I'll attend to him." Tobey smiled.  
"I'll die in his hands." Holden pointed to Tobey.  
"One of my best bud's father's back home is a doctor. Dr. Parker. He taught us kids a few things. Probably 'cause we were always getting hurt in some brilliant scheme. So I know everything I need to know to watch our little boy here."  
"I swear if you leave with him he'll commit manslaughter."  
"Please Rose." George grabbed my arm hard.  
"I'll take him." Ada was between shifts too.  
"Thank you so much."  
  
Before I could respond George dragged me over to the end of the camp on an empty stretch of grass.  
"George please, you're hurting me."  
"Sorry."  
"And you're scaring me too." There was something new about his demeanor I didn't like. I felt like panicking.  
"I'm not gonna be able to help that. I don't know any other way to do this so just please sit down and don't say anything." He held my shoulders and stared at me hard.  
"WHAT?!"   
  
***  
  
September 16, 1917,   
  
"George." Mary whispered. "George." She had been awake for nearly a half an hour now. It was sweet watching him sleep for the first ten minutes, but now she was just getting antsy. It was nearly nine o'clock and his parents were coming up from New Jersey this afternoon to see them. They had met them Mary a few times before, it took them a little to warm up to her, but she easily grew on them.  
A word on the Calverts. I am not the first person I know to alter my identity for personal purposes. Tevye Meisels was born in a small village in Poland. To escape persecution Tevye's father, a widower moved himself and his two sons to England. Tevye, the younger was only eight. In London, Meisels was met with similar opposition and found it hard to find work. Eventually, he was hired by booksellers by the names of Williams & Calvert. When Tevye was eighteen years old he decided to leave home and make his fortune in America. Tevye knew that well America may be the land of opportunity his name would still cause a problem. At Ellis Island, he gave his name as William Calvert, the names of the only men willing to hire his father. Since he had been living in England for ten years he was armed with a cockney accent and general knowledge. No one would suspect. Within a short period of time he found a job and much to his family's delight a nice Jewish girl. Unfortunately, she was an immigrant from Russia and spoke little English. He came to call on her regularly and little by little she learned English. He married Sophie Kaminsky one year later. After becoming successful in the insurance he legally changed his first name back to Tevye.  
So there you have it. The Calverts, an interesting bunch, wouldn't you say? Henceforth, despite appearances, Mary being Catholic was slightly unnerving at first to Teyve and Sophie.  
Now, back to Mary and George. "George!" Mary shook a little harder.  
"Huh?" He wiped the sleep from his eyes.   
"We gotta get up now if we're gonna meet your parents in three hours."   
"They know where to find me."  
"Won't it be a nice surprise when they find us in bed together."  
"Won't be as scary as Iyour/I parents finding us in bed together."  
"True enough. But you gotta move, my stomach's falling asleep." She shifted herself and George moved his head.   
Mary had been a virgin with George, something George, unlike most men that find breaking through untouched territory to be exciting, felt guilty about. He being seven years older, and not "a good Catholic girl" had been around a little more. Mary didn't seem to care in the least. She just wanted to be with George. Having sex didn't make her any more or less mature-not that while her year and a half away didn't drive her wild, not because she was still a virgin, but because she couldn't be with George. Their relationship developed through their letters. That's where that made the unlikely decision to be together after what would have seemed to most a brief flirtation. It didn't matter now. They were getting married in a month and they had their hands full with that.  
Mary got dressed and put a business-looking navy blue skirt and jacket combo. She checked herself over in the mirror several times making sure she looked like respectable enough.  
"Quit it. They like you."  
"I'm a perfectionist."  
"But now you're adorably anal about it." She gave him a jab in the arm. He laughed clutching his arm, she was stronger than she looked and usually realized.   
"It's my parents we'll have to worry about."  
"I thought you said they liked me."  
"They do. They don't know you're Jewish yet."  
"Christ, they really put the fear of God in you."  
"Well, that's the complicated area in our situation, isn't it? And what about you? You're a complete mama's boy."  
"Yeah, but my mom's more fun. And I don't tell them 'I'm staying with Em and Joe until the wedding.'" He stuck out his tongue. Mary shot him a look and he innocently grinned back.   
Then someone knocked on the door. "Hey, you people alive in there?" It was Emily. Mr. and Mrs. Calvert would be meeting the rest of the crew that day.  
"No, go away we're having wild sex and won't be out 'til evening sometime." Mary responded.  
"Really?" Sonny said from behind the door. Mary and George burst into a fit of laughter and they could hear Emily doing the same from the other side as well as a few 'whats' and 'huhs' from Sonny.  
George unlocked the door and let the two in.  
"You're so gullible." Emily shook her head at Sonny.  
"God this neighborhood stinks." George peered out his windowed while putting on his jacket. The particular area of Manhattan they lived in was known as "Hell's Kitchen." George's parents had never been to his apartment. They would take the El and meet them on the other side of town.  
"Wow, ragazza mia, we finally get to meet the in-laws!" Emily hugged her best friend.  
George laughed. Marrying Mary would also mean marrying Emily in a way, but he didn't mind. He liked the kid. She became a sort of surrogate sister.   
"Let's hurry it up I'm starvin.'" Sonny tapped his foot.  
"Sonny, we're not gonna be eating until noon." Mary raised an eyebrow,  
"What?!"  
"Well, considering we're going to be eating lunch, and eating it anytime hours before noon would make it breakfast." George stated as if he were teaching it to a class of fourth graders. Sonny frowned. "I've got the math on this complicated subject all worked out. I can show the research at my office."  
"Fuck you Calvert."  
"No thanks, I'm engaged."  
The group left George's apartment several minutes later. It had rained the night before and the streets were still wet. The sun had just broken through the clouds as they left the building and the neighborhood had an almost musty smell.  
They walked a few blocks toward the train station. They took the route through Sonny's neighborhood near his home on Tenth Avenue.   
"Aw Jesus, Carm." Sonny looked toward a developing street fight. His brother and some other kid seemed to be at the center of a shouting crowd. Carmine Andolini, at this time twenty, had been part of a local gang from the time he was sixteen to the end of his short life.  
"We might want to take the long way to El." Mary suggested.  
"No, that's it, he's quittin' this now." Sonny started toward the commotion.  
"No, I'll go. This is my arena." George reached for his gun. He forgot he didn't have it today. Mary had convinced him that carrying it everywhere was overkill. He waved it off and he was about to move in the direction of the crowd trying to get Carmine's attention.   
Mary noticed Carmine pull a knife and his opponent in turn pull a gun. She grabbed George's arm, he was undeterred by the new danger. She gave him a hard look and mouthed a harsh 'No' through her teeth.   
It took Sonny a moment to realize how grave the situation was, even though Carm had probably been in it before. "NO!!!!!!!!" he shouted in a mix of panic and rage.   
The kid with the gun looked in the direction of the shout. Carmine immediately recognizing his brother's voice lunged toward his attacker trying to distract him. When he found the gun turned back on him again he dived in several directions at once trying to avoid any shots.  
After the first shot was fired all the surrounding bystanders threw themselves to the ground. Several more shots followed instantaneously as the gunman tried to locate Carmine.  
Mary, George, Emily, and Sonny had pulled each other to the ground in the same manner as everyone else. Once there was a long enough pause George, ever on duty, moved to get up.   
Mary pulled him back down, softly whispering "Stay" into his ear. He stopped at the familiar phrase. It was his argument to keep Mary in New York. "Stay." It had been over two years and they had come so far from that night although it still burned in their minds.   
She smiled up at him reassuring him. He looked over at Emily next to Mary who was holding her hand. She was white as a sheet and blood was dripping from her face to her shirt.   
He grabbed her face and tugged at her shirt looking for where she was hit. He panicked moving his face up and down her body, searching for anything. It took some time for him to realize that Emily was sitting up on her own leaning over Mary.   
The blood soaking Emily was not her own. Emily didn't deter her eyes from her friend. Her hand lay on her chest trying to cover the wound. Sonny crawled over toward her and clutched Emily's back. They had all grown silent, huddled over the dead woman. 


	14. Over There

Soon after the police arrived on the scene. Mary had not been moved, except maybe for George lifting her slightly and holding her. A half an hour later, the small scene around young Mary McBride had barely changed.  
Sonny moved a few feet away, hugging his knees and whimpering, George had moved Mary's upper body on to his lap, Emily still held her hand.  
Eventually, they had to move and leave her. The other officers had cleared them away; many of them shocked to see the dead woman had been Inspector Calvert's fiancée. Sonny crawled out of the street and huddled next to a building, cursing his brother and crying.   
Of the pair crouched around the body, George was the first to move. He put his hand on Emily's shoulder. "Come on." he whispered softly.   
Emily looked up at him, her face had grown paler and her eyes seemed to have sunken into her head. "I can't." she said weakly. He gripped her shoulder tighter. "No, I can't free my hand." She lifted their hands imploringly. Mary's death grip had locked her best friend's hand to hers.   
George contorted his face. "Just pull." He choked on the words. He knew that's what she had to do, but he still couldn't believe he was saying it. He had seen hundreds of bodies before, none of them had ever been pleasant, but none of them had ever been anybody he loved.  
"I don't want to." Emily shook her head stubbornly. "I don't want to hurt her."  
"Please."   
Emily let out a sob for the first time that day. She held her friend's hand with her free hand, pushing her thumb between their palms and ripping herself free with a snap of Mary's fingers.   
"I'm sorry." She said. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" George lifted her up and walked her across to Sonny. Halfway there she stumbled. He picked her up in his arms like a child and carried her.  
He took one last look at Mary's face. It didn't look like her. Her eyes were closed, her expression flat and empty and her face covered with bloody fingerprints. Her chest and stomach as well as the ground around her were soaked in dark blood. Her legs were twisted and her arms fell limply at her sides.   
He set himself down next to Sonny and kept holding Emily in his arms.   
A colleague of his came up to George. "Calvert-"  
He flashed him an icy stare. "Go away." The man backed away and disappeared.  
They hadn't found Carmine or the gunman yet. Sonny gripped his shirt tightly. *Cowards.*   
One minute they had been walking, the next Mary was dead. She was dead. Dead. It happened to fast to comprehend. George looked to either side of him. They must have been a sight. Pale faced, grief-stricken, and covered in dried tears and blood. Sonny was still whimpering to himself.   
"Shut up, knickerknots." Emily muttered. For a moment George was puzzled. He thought she was talking to Sonny, but she only used that name for Mary. He realized she had fallen asleep. He tried to fight off one last hot tear before closing his eyes, but he never quite fell asleep.  
  
***  
  
On the other side of town, Mr. and Mrs. Calvert, Danny McBride, and Joe Dawson were waiting outside of a nice café. It was sometime after noon and their lunch companions hadn't showed up yet.   
"They're almost an hour late." Danny huffed.  
"Maybe train is late. Trains are always late." Sophie though aloud.  
"No, you always take the wrong trains, darling." Tevye corrected his wife.  
"There's no such thing as wrong train!" Sophie snapped.  
The Calverts were always fighting about the most trivial of things, but they seemed to enjoy it.   
"I have a feeling whatever it is, it's my daughter's fault." Joe looked up toward the building across the street. He had come from a family a mischief-makers that seemed to get worse with every generation. Emily seemed to be the worst-case scenario, even his nephew seemed to practice a little caution here and there.  
"Where's my sister?" Danny looked on last time at the clock outside.  
  
***  
  
By that night everyone knew. It was only a few short blocks to the Andolini's apartment, but it seemed to take hours. Sonny opened the door to an empty apartment. Carmine definitely wouldn't be home tonight. His mother, and his younger siblings Vinny and Angela were in Long Island visiting his uncle.   
He turned to Emily. "Fuck it, I'll walk you home. You're dad's probably worried about you anyways."  
She didn't say anything. She just threw her arms around him and began crying again.   
"I'm sorry! It was my fault! I shouldn't a said nothin'!" Sonny sobbed into her shoulder.  
Emily pulled away from him a few inches and looked over his face with her hands. It was something warm, hot with emotion and blood pumping through it, so unlike the cold hand that never seemed to let go of her own. She pushed him into the apartment and closed the door behind them. She grabbed him and kissed him fiercely. He kissed her back just as fiercely. She ripped off his jacket and began tearing at the buttons on his shirt.   
He pulled away from her once he realized her intentions. "Come on, Em, we shouldn't do it like this."  
"You were the one who said you didn't wanna wait anymore."  
"Not like this. We don't wanna do it like this."  
"I just wanna fell something else! I can't fell this way anymore, I'll go crazy! Please Sonny!" She pulled herself back to his body, hands moving up and down his chest.  
He touched her cheek wiping away the muck on her face. They both looked and smelled awful, covered in tears, blood, dirt, and vomit. He pulled her to him once more, dragging her by the shirt into his bedroom.  
  
***  
They never found the gunman, Carmine spent a year in jail.  
George went to stay at in his parents' house in Woodcliff Lake, New Jersey. His brothers as well as parents were there for him. Dave was sixteen and still lived at home and Rick came back from California with Ellen, they were married now.  
Sonny's family came home early the following morning, but not early enough to find Emily in bed with him. He walked her home just after dawn and was back in his room ten minutes before they were home.  
Emily was normally in trouble for getting home at all hours, and now, despite what happened, she thought she would be in more trouble because of the severe situation at hand. God knows what her father thought happened to her. She didn't care if she was in trouble, he could beat into a pulp if he wanted to; not that he'd ever done anything of the sort.  
When she walked in Joe was awake and waiting for her.  
She stood there limply, waiting for him to stay something. He studied her face. He had a feeling of where she'd been and what she'd been doing. He didn't move from the old rocking armchair. He simply stretched out his arms toward her. She ran to her father and hugged him.  
"Oh button, I was so scared."  
"I'm sorry, Daddy, I'm sorry!"  
"It's alright."  
He rocked her back and forth like he did when she was a child. She curled up in his lap sobbing.   
  
***  
  
They laid Mary to rest in a cemetery near the home she grew up in. Emily, although she rarely appeared so, was very eloquent. With this and her nine-year friendship with Mary, she gave the eulogy.   
George went back to work two weeks later and everything carried on in some strange never-ending blur. He spent his would-be wedding day in bed by himself dreaming about Mary and looking at his draft notice.   
Danny moved to Boston to live with his brother Jimmy who was a cab driver there. As for Mary's other brothers, Timmy, who was nearly Joe's age, was no where to be found, he had long since disappeared, Tommy and Mickey still lived in the city with their families and attended her funeral, Bobby lived in Chicago and wasn't able to come home until after, and Johnny and Billy were away at war.  
Mary's parents, Minnie and Walt, much to Danny's anger refused to see George anymore, maybe because he was a reminder of Mary, or maybe still it was because they found out about his Jewish heritage.   
They knew Bookie's new address in London and were able to inform him about what happened. The Sanchezes, Sammy, and I moved around a bit and they couldn't find all the new addresses and some none at all. After going through Mary's room they found her desk was more of a disaster area then previously thought. Mary's old fiancé, Jake Clancy did not respond.   
Considerate sounds like the best word to describe her, if you can use one word to describe a whole human being. It doesn't stir too much emotion in the soul, "considerate," it's a word of politeness. But that was Mary. Never had I met a more concerned person, never could I find a purer conscious. Few people were so willing, and strong enough to do the right thing. She wasn't always nice, but she was never ashamed of not being so. She had the worst menstrual mood swings one would dare to fathom. She could be irritating at times, everyone is, her usual weapons were hard logic or her fierce loyalty to her hometown. She was a gentle soul, but possessed a quiet strength and understanding. Often maternal, sometimes stubborn, ever the voice of reason, ever the long name. Mary Margaret Virginia St. Clare McBride.   
  
***  
  
George had sat me down somewhere in the middle of the story and held my hand. It wasn't easy for him tell this story once, and this was not first time he had to tell it, but he had nearly a year to deal with it. Right now he was concerned about how I would take it.  
I got up from the ground and freed my hand from his. "I'm so sorry, Rose." I tried to stand up straight, but the world seemed to blur. She looked so happy the last time I saw her, waving from the train laughing and crying, blonde hair whipping in her face.  
I looked up to the sky, it was a perfect shade of blue like Mary's eyes, the sun was brilliant, almost resembling the color of Mary's hair. My had friend died. It was someone's fault, someone fired that gun with the intent of hitting something and he would not pay for what he did. He missed his target, but it hit Mary just the same.  
I could feel the blood drain from my face. *You look like shit.* I could hear her saying. I fell over trying to walk back toward the rest of the camp. George came to help me up with his one good arm, the other hung useless in a sling.   
"Will you be alright?"  
*Mary's dead. Mary has been dead for eleven months. There is no more Mary.*  
I nodded my head violently, trying to hold back the tears. If I spoke I knew I'd cry. It was times like these I needed someone like Mary. After we found out about Lusitania she was the one the take my hand and she had guessed I was hiding something after that incident, but she knew it was more important to be my friend then to go poking where she knew there was already a wound.  
*Then visit…or else.* Now I found out what the "or else" was. I could only visit her grave now. She had never fired a gun, not even when we were with the Villistas, yet she could just as easily be killed by one on the streets she grew up in. She was only twenty.  
"Not Mary!" I cried.   
He pulled me to my feet and held me up with his arm letting me bury his face in his chest. He walked me back to my tent and I cried into my pillow for an hour. Then it was time to go back to work. I got up and went back to work. People were dying left and right in this country, almost everyone there had lost someone they loved within the past year and a half. I had no excuse to stay in bed.   
I worked straight through the end of my shift until dinner, barely speaking and doing my best to mask that anything had happened. I didn't eat dinner. I went back to my tent again. Ada and Chief Nurse Frost came in to see me. I told them what happened in short and told them I'd eat later. I didn't any intention of eating for a while. I needed to be alone with my thoughts and not trying to hold down food.  
I went to bed early instead of hanging around with the other nurses and patients. I was alone for about an hour before I was interrupted. I thought might have been one of my tent mates, Ada, Carrie, or Amelia.   
"Hey, can I come in?" It was George.  
"How did you sneak out?"  
"I'm not the only clever bastard around here. I came in to check on how you were doing."  
"I'm managing."  
"Got you some…well, whatever the hell this is." He handed me a plate of food and a glass of water.   
"Oh, mashed potatoes." It took me a little while to get used to the food. Benny, the cook, made some pretty interesting courses.  
"They sure they wanna keep us alive?" he said looking at the plate.  
I laughed weakly. I grabbed my bathrobe from the end of the bed and wrapped it around me.  
"You look like shit." he said smiling out of the corner of his mouth, almost like Mary, they must have been like two sides of a coin.   
I tried to laugh, but it turned into a sob again. He put his arm around me. "I loved her so much." I cried into shirt, soaking his uniform again.   
"I know. I did too." He started to cry too.  
"I'm sorry." I said.  
"Why?"  
"I'm just rubbing it in on you."  
"No, you go ahead. I'm not the only that lost her."  
"It's a good thing I don't have the nightshift this week." I tried to smile.  
He laughed distantly. "It's never goes away, does it?"  
"No." I looked at him sorrowfully, and slowly shook my head. If anyone knew that it was me.   
He stayed with me and tucked me into bed. "If you get hungry. There's that unidentified shit on the nightstand."  
"Thanks. Goodnight George."  
"Night Rose."  
  
***  
  
I wasn't the first person George had to break hard news too. He had to tell Tobey about his neighbors, the Dawsons. Obviously, he already knew about Hannah and Peter, he was there, but he hadn't known about Maggie's death or Jack's disappearance.   
"I'm not sure if this is the worst or second worst summer of my life." Tobey sighed as I handed him a cup of tea while we chatting outside.  
"What's the other one?"  
"1908."  
"What happened?"  
"An entire family I grew up with was destroyed. The Dawsons. One half of them moved away to Manhattan, that was Maggie, Joe, and Emily, Hannah and Peter were killed in a fire then Jack ran away. Now Maggie's dead and nobody has any idea what happened old Jack. It's funny, the summer before was the best of our lives. It was one of the summer's that sounds like it's from a story. Damn, we just tore up the town; it was amazing. Except the very end, one my friends, a girl too, beat the living shit outta me. Not that I wasn't asking for it. I was kind of jerk as a kid."  
I smiled. This man had known Jack. He was his friend. Oh why couldn't I tell him! George could sit down and calmly explain to everyone he knew about Mary, even though he saw the woman he loved shot through the chest and killed right in front of him. What was wrong with me?!  
"Nope. This is the worst summer of my life." Holden sighed.   
He hadn't spoken during the entire conversation. It had been mostly overrun by Tobey, George, and me.   
"It speaks." George raised his hands up feigning shock. When I had first known him I noticed this quality. He was a man who often lived inside himself.  
"Now it's going to shut up again." Holden frowned. The three of us made sad faces and pushed out our lower lips.   
"We love you too, Holden." I said.  
"Oh, I love you too, Rose. You're like a sister-in-law to me." I elbowed him hard in the arm. "OW!"   
"Quiet Holden," I said, "I can't hit patients I'll get in trouble." I smiled.  
Tobey and George exchanged glances and shrugged. They assumed they were missing something.  
"What was that all about?" Tobey asked.  
"Nothing." We both answered angelically.  
At that moment some of the boys had found an old piano and had carried it part way to the center of the small open green.  
"Have a little help here?!"  
George and Tobey got up.   
"And where do you think you're going?" I asked George.  
"To help with the piano."  
"I don't think so. Not with that arm."  
"It's getting better. And besides I got this arm." He waved his good arm.  
"George, you don't touch that thing." I ordered.   
"Tootles Nursie." He stuck out his tongue playfully.  
"George!"  
He and Tobey had already run off toward the piano.  
"Why does no one listen to me!?"  
"Because you're mean." answered Holden.  
"You're a brat."  
"You're brattier? You get an immense pleasure from being right, you're arrogant, you're over-confident, stubborn-no-completely obdurate, you think because you're clever you're on some different plane than the rest of the world. Did you know by the time we were both teenagers our fathers used us as another form of competition? They would compare how much we were excelling in school. You were usually ahead. I'm sure that delights beyond all human comprehension. What didn't you stay with Cal? You seemed perfect for each other!"  
He got up ready to storm off, but I followed him to the far side of the green and grabbed his arm and spun him around. "Oh fuck you! Don't you dare assume anything about me! You have no idea who I am, who I was, or who I've become! You changed too Holden, you've gotten more ill tempered and bitter. Nice one. You're so repressed. You're the most scornful and shriveled up 26 year old I've ever seen. Poor you, the incompetent son of the prize wife."  
"Don't you talk that way about my mother!"  
"Don't you talk about mine!"  
"At least I love my mother! And don't scream at me because I'm something that looks like Cal!"  
"I love my mother! And fuck you Hockley. That's right you're not Cal. You're not the one who'll get the business or the one who's smart enough to handle it. Fuck you and your God damn family."   
"Oh yes, Rose. You hate us, don't you? You were so absolutely forced into marriage with Cal. You were so helpless. I know you well enough to know this: that you wouldn't agree to anything if there wasn't something you wanted. You didn't know quite how desperate your financial situation was. You were attracted to him. He was a good looking older guy. I don't know how much or how little you were in love with him. But at some point you wanted him. You would have been happy to be with him if Hank and Ruth hadn't told you to be and you know it. You were going to fucking marry him yet you still didn't give the bastard a chance. That takes talent, Rose, real fucking talent, you know that? I don't know how you did it. You're angry because you know that you trapped because of a choice *you* made!"  
I was livid. How dare he. How dare he be so…accurate. I couldn't speak for a moment. I looked around to make sure no one was watching. He began to limp away thinking he'd won.  
"I'm not you're God damn sister-in-law, I never was. And at least I'm not some embittered cunt who bitches and moans because he doesn't have Daddy's company. The world just pisses on Holden Hockley, doesn't it? Go whine somewhere else. It's only been two days and already I'm so sick of you and you're shit."   
"And you piss on the world Rose *Dawson*!" He spoke the last part of my name with a cynical edge.   
"Who was Dawson anyway? He is the unlucky fuck you left Cal for? Dead did you say? I'd believe that. 'Cause I think I'd kill myself if I was with you!"  
I slapped him hard across the face. His head flung to the side. He looked at me enraged, but still taken aback that I could hit him as hard as I did.  
"Go to hell, Rose."  
"See you there."  
"Play dead you'll feel better!" He shouted after me as I walked away. I wasn't supposed to leave him there, but they could do anything they liked to me. I thought this was the one patient we could let die on good conscious. He didn't stay there alone for long. George found him right after. He was the only one who saw the fight. Holden let George berate him without putting up any offense. He had wasted all his anger on me and George was his senior officer.   
I stopped where they couldn't see me before continuing back to my tent. I could hear them. "That stupid self-righteous spiteful bitch! I HATE HER!"  
"She was friends with my fiancée, Holden. You know what happened to her. She just found out yesterday. She just found out her friend was shot to death. Show a little respect. Where in the hell is your head?!"  
Holden blushed, embarrassed, but he didn't give in that easily. "You don't the rest, Calvert. You have no idea." He said minus the intensity he had given me before. "I'm sorry about Mary, George, but she's vile. Rose, I mean."  
"She's tough as hell and you fucked with her. You got everything you deserved and should've expected. Now you get it together or I swear to God I'll fuck you up beyond repair. Understand?"   
"Yes." He said in a low voice.  
"Sorry, I didn't hear you."  
"Yes!"  
  
***  
  
The three of us spent the rest of the day in a huff, much to the bewilderment of Tobey. Luckily, I didn't see any of them again that day after the early afternoon.   
Before going to sleep I kicked my bed and beat up my pillow. I wasn't used to being angry like this. I was usually intimidating and controlled when I was mad, but this time I lost more temper than I thought I had and I was unforgivably cruel, not to say that he wasn't. So what if he attacked me first. I don't think I'd ever been more malicious. It had to be more than pain from losing Mary. Oh Jesus, Mary! Had I really turned into such a monster? What had I become? What would Jack think of me now? Did he die so I could become, as Holden put it, a stupid self-righteous spiteful bitch? 


	15. Over There

Life goes on…no matter what happens. Hearts may break, but they still beat. The world will always keep turning.  
  
I sat still and silent taking in one of George's stories which under normal circumstances would have been more than easy to hear—and it wasn't just because I was staring down Holden.  
  
***  
  
Woodcliff Lake, New Jersey, 1903  
  
It was a bright Saturday in early spring. Four boys were in the backyard recovering from the uneventful Bar Mitzvah services earlier that day.  
  
"Now to answer that question 'can babies fly?'!" A thirteen year-old George Ariel Calvert had allegedly become a man today. He had 20 month-old Dave pulled back on the swing of the old oak tree. His other brother Ricky and his cousin Jerome were eleven. "Ready Davey?" George leaned into his baby brother's ear.  
  
"Yeah yeah! Go!" said the little toddler.  
  
"BOYS!" Sophie Calvert called from the porch, her Russian accent still thick.  
  
George grabbed Dave and followed the younger boys into the house. George set down his brother on kitchen floor and ran into the living room. His Uncle Max immediately swooped him up onto a chair.  
  
His father and his other uncles all grabbed on and began singing Hava Nagila.  
  
"Hava, hava nagila, hava nagila, hava nagila, v'nis m'cha, hava nagila, hava—"  
  
"OW!!!!!!!" wailed George as the top of his head smashed against the ceiling  
  
The older men had apparently overestimated the height of ceiling and raised George a little too high and little too fast.  
  
Sophie ran in lifting her son's head. "George! George!"  
  
He looked at his mother, perplexed.  
  
"Well, the boy is tall." said Tevye's brother, Mendel.  
  
His mother took George into the kitchen and had him hold ice over the bump.  
  
"What happened to *you*?" laughed George's cousin Frank, who was just a month older than him. And 'a pain in the ass' according to George.  
  
"Oh, can't you see I'm just putting on my face?" said George spitefully as he carefully wiped the water from his face."  
  
***  
  
Then she called by my middle name, "now Ariel…" George mimicked his mother's accent. That was my 'in-trouble' name."  
  
"My parents stuck with the old full name. Tobias Lee Jackson. But when I got in trouble with strangers I had two different names I used. It would start off with 'what's your name son!' then I'd give 'em the false name."  
  
"Which was…?" I asked.  
  
"Milo Shaw or Jack Dawson…You have no idea how much that pissed them off. Milo because he was picked on a lot anyway, and Jack because it took people a while to convince people he actually *didn't* do it."  
  
"Hey speaking of pissed off." George leered over at Holden.  
  
"Hey George, guess what!" Tobey jumped up suddenly.  
  
"What a stitch in time only saves seven now?! What?"  
  
"Come over here with me."  
  
"What?" Tobey pulled him away to something. I now realized there was nothing special he had to tell George. They left Holden and me alone on purpose.  
  
I pretended to be extremely interested in my book, which I hadn't so much as glanced at while George was speaking.  
  
"You know if you make faces like that it'll just stick that way."  
  
"I'm not making any face." I said not looking up from my book.  
  
"If only I had a mirror. If that's your angry face pity the unwitting human who sleeps with you. I wonder what those faces look like."  
  
I dropped my book…and tried not to crack a smile.  
  
"How's the nose, Corporal Hockley?" asked Shirley, "It was bleeding something awful. Don't sneak around like that again…or run with that leg or yours."  
  
"I'm fine Nurse Thomas, really."  
  
"Watch this one, Rose, he's slippery," she laughed, "wandered up by the hill and fell on the big rock, snuck past all the girls too. If Chief Nurse Frost found out she'd have our hides! Crazy guy." She smiled at us and moved on.  
  
He covered for me. I couldn't believe it; he covered for me.  
  
"Why did you do that?" I asked softly.  
  
He just shrugged. "…I'm sorry."  
  
"I'm sorry too. I said some really awful things. I had no right."  
  
"Neither did I. That last comment…about Daw—"  
  
"No don't." I put my hand up.  
  
"Please, listen I saw the look in your eyes when I asked about the widow thing, and I knew it when I used it against you. I'm so sorry."  
  
"It's alright. We both said some pretty horrible things. About what I said about your mother."  
  
"No that's really what she was to Nathan. Just a prize wife. Eleanor was the 'real' wife."  
  
"He divorced her."  
  
"Yeah, still."  
  
"What do you mean by 'was'?" I said as gently as I could.  
  
"Bastard died last year. Cal's got the company now." I could tell he really wanted it. Holden liked business. He was good at it. But he hated school and schoolwork. He didn't get into Harvard and he was the younger son. He would never own Hockley Steel, even if he was what it needed.  
  
"Sorry."  
  
"Not your fault."  
  
"…I think that was the first time I ever said 'cunt' before. My vocabulary's really gone down the drain."  
  
He cracked a smile. "Well, at least I'm good for something."  
  
"Good for corrupting my language?"  
  
"Somehow I doubt you have clean mouth."  
  
"Yes, but you'd never heard me swear before."  
  
"Still I get the feeling. By the way," he paused to explain, "do to my general nature I've been many a time smacked in the face by a woman…but you hit *really* hard."  
  
"Sorry about that," I blushed, "I guess I'll take that as compliment, but thanks for covering for me, you really should not have."  
  
"Think nothing of it."  
  
"…Why did we yell at each other like that?"  
  
"I don't know. I guess for me it's just so strange. It's registering now, but it didn't seem right. Strange that we were both defending Cal, the sorry son of a bitch, but the way everyone reacted when you were gone, and the way you seem so happy now."  
  
"I'm in the middle of a war zone. I'm not happy."  
  
"Alright…you're well-adjusted is more like it. Maybe you needed to leave and to do what you did, but Jesus I don't think you realize the trail of ruins you left behind. More people cared about you than you'll ever dream."  
  
I was dumbfounded.  
  
"…I-I don't know what to say."  
  
"If there's one thing you taught me. It's that a person loves more people than they think…I liked you, you were going to be my sister-in-law. I didn't know you a lot, but I knew you enough. You weren't a close friend, but I still regarded you as a friend. I never had any sort of thing for you or anything, but when you died…I was crushed. I'd never lost anyone before, especially not like that. It hurt."  
  
There was a pause. "I would've thought you'd be one to think it as just a reaction to death, not a general love for people."  
  
"Well," he said, "you thought wrong, I'm not like that…you're alright Bukater."  
  
"Don't call me that." I smiled.  
  
"There's already a Private Dawson and Tobey and George's friends they keep talking about. It's confusing."  
  
"Fine, but only you can call me that."  
  
After the initial tensions faded it was still uneasy. Holden was from my old world, but we were both in a new place now and it was clear he would not betray me. As for him I was the living dead. We were both unnerved and a little scared. We were also both very intense people. And with Mary, though I won't use her as an excuse, an altercation seemed inevitable.  
  
But now a new kind of tension had set in.  
  
***  
  
Holden stood there with his common sour look on his face. George and Tobey exchanged glances. They were each about ten feet away from him and on opposite sides.  
  
"Holden!" George shouted with his arms out running toward him.  
  
"HOLDEN!" Tobey shouted doing the same.  
  
They ran crashing into him and giving him a big bear hug.  
  
"Ugh! Get off of me!"  
  
"Holden Hockley is my hero!" beamed Tobey.  
  
"You're a couple of bastards."  
  
Something fell from Tobey's pocket.  
  
"Wow, my lucky fork I thought I lost it!" Tobey triumphantly pulled out the utensil.  
  
"A twenty-five year-old man still has to carry around a dinky little charm." Holden sighed.  
  
"It was only unlucky the first time, then it was all lucky after that." He smiled.  
  
"Too bad that's also your philosophy with women Tob, no wonder you're still single."  
  
"You're single too."  
  
"Yeah, but I'm just a jerk."  
  
Tobey nodded agreeing.  
  
"Sorry truth, ain't it?" said George. "So tell us about this fork."  
  
"One of my friends Judy Parker stabbed me with it when I was fourteen. I kinda sold her out on something. She wasn't too thrilled to say the least."  
  
"Oh my God I've heard this story." George groaned.  
  
"You heard it from a twisted eight year-old's perspective."  
  
"And yours is any less twisted?" George asked.  
  
Tobey let out a sigh. "Yeah, you're right."  
  
"I got stabbed with a fork once." said Holden.  
  
"What did you do?" Tobey said interested in hearing a similar tale.  
  
"Well, let's just say I had a little crush on my best friend's girl…and I acted on it."  
  
"Ooo!" George winced.  
  
"*Never* move in on your best friend's girl! That's a cardinal rule, Hockley!" He got up.  
  
"Where are you going little fella?" George asked him.  
  
"Gonna go put the old Jackson charm on Nurse Dawson." He skipped off.  
  
"Our little boy's all grown up." sighed George.  
  
"Good, I hope he gets smacked in face too." Holden smiled.  
  
***  
  
"This one goes out to a personal friend of mine!" Tobey sat in front of the player piano we'd managed to acquire. "I wrote it about her."  
  
"Adamay!" I called to my friend. She waved and pointed to Tobey.  
  
"Wait Rose, I wrote you a song! …Actually, I didn't but I'm still a hell of a singer." Tobey called out.  
  
"This should be interesting." Holden grunted. Our eyes met.  
  
"I've seen some beautiful floweeeeers, something something somethiiiiing, I've spent some wonderful hours, ummm…uh…beyond compare! Mid the war's great curse stands the Red Cross nurse! She's the rose of no man's land!"  
  
"Tobias, that was genuinely terrible." I complimented.  
  
"Why thank you ma'am." He tipped his hat. He suddenly leaped into my arms. I held him like a baby. We exchanged childish grins. The other nurses and men laughed in surprise. "God bless the nurses of Base Camp 42!"  
  
"And God bless the Tobey Jacksons of America." I put him down.  
  
"Rose!" called one of my tent mates.  
  
"Amelia!"  
  
She whispered low. "Our life-line's broken." I nodded knowing what she was referring to.  
  
"Oh Tobey, this is Amelia…Nurse Baker. Corporal Jackson." I sensed something about the two of them and left. "I'll go check on that piece of machinery in question."  
  
"Yeah…" she nodded.  
  
I scurried to my tent. I had to hurry my shift started in less than twenty minutes.  
  
"I've got it all under control!" Carrie waved her hand up. She was crouched next to the problem.  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"We had a leak. But I'm fixing it. Chief Nurse Frost won't suspect a thing."  
  
We were a weird group. We were also the youngest ones there. Adamay (as we called by both her names) and I were 23, Carrie was 24, Amelia was 22, and the broken distiller was two weeks.  
  
"Well, my shift is starting soon, I don't think I'll be needed anything from there."  
  
***  
  
A few days later it was time for this wave of men to leave now that they had all recuperated.  
  
"I'll be seeing you I hope." George smiled. "Listen I've had this for a while. We found it in her desk." He handed me a letter.  
  
I smiled weakly. I knew whom it was from. "Well, say hi to Emily and Sonny, and Danny if he ever comes back, for me. Oh and Bookie too, I mean if he comes back too. And Rick and Ellen too, and…" I paused trying to think of anyone else. I almost wanted to say Mary.  
  
"Anyone I see I'll tell them Rose Dawson says hi."  
  
"Deal then." We shook hands. "Watch yourself. There's crazy people out there."  
  
"I know. I finally get away getting shot at at work, now they shoot at me…at work."  
  
"Tough break, eh Calvert?"  
  
"Yup."  
  
"Where's Tobey?"  
  
"Talking to Nurse Baker. He's got one big, sad crush on her."  
  
"I think the feeling's mutual…goodbye George." I embraced him.  
  
"Bye Rose."  
  
George got on the train. I tried to catch Tobey's attention, but he seemed busy with Amelia.  
  
Holden approached me. "The old leg's feeling better. Thanks."  
  
"Well, it is my job."  
  
"But really. I'm glad…I'm glad that I got to really be friends with you."  
  
"Me too."  
  
"By the way, glasses look good on you."  
  
"Well, I all I can say is that I see much better now. It's nice to see a smile on you. I'll miss you…again."  
  
"Hey, no getting to sentimental on me now." He smiled wider saying nothing after. I tried to think of something else to say. I couldn't, but I still didn't want him to leave quite yet. It was hard to say something. His face was only inches from mine. "—Oh, I have my address here," he interjected, "in case you want to write." He shoved a piece of paper into my hand.  
  
"Oh, umm, yes."  
  
"Bye Rose!" He jumped on the train.  
  
"…bye Holden."  
  
He disappeared, not going to a window.  
  
Tobey approached me slowly. He saw the two of us before. "Bye Rose…I'll miss ya, Philly."  
  
"I'll miss ya, too, Wisconsin."  
  
"Thanks for introducing me to Amelia. You're the best!" He gave me a hard kiss on the cheek and leapt onto the train. He quickly got to a window and leaned out. George joined him.  
  
They waved until they disappeared, off to an uncertain fate.  
  
***  
  
That night after my shift I went to read Mary's letter. First I placed Holden's address down on my bed. I noticed it was written on the back of something: a letter. It was partly torn. He must have just grabbed something quickly. I turned it over and read what was left of it. I looked over the familiar handwriting.  
  
...that boy from the mailroom says 'hello.' The one that calls you 'H.' Tak, I think his name is, right? It's that Japanese kid from Canada. You know him better than I. Either way, he sends his regards.  
  
Things are well despite your absence. You are sorely missed whether you chose to believe it or not. I should inform you that you are now an uncle for the third time. We had a little girl. Her name is Caroline.  
  
When you get back I hope you'll consider the position I offered you. The company needs you. Without Father around it's madness. I know things have never been the best between us, but I want you to take it. Truthfully, I need you. You're the only one I trust. More so, I just want my little brother back.  
  
Come home safely,  
  
Cal  
  
Well, that was an interesting surprise. That last paragraph was strangely honest. It sounded like him in the way he wrote his letters, but something was different. I doubted I had anything to do with it. After all, he *was* his brother—even if it was only half.  
  
Sitting myself down I moved onto Mary's letter. It was dated just a few days before her death.  
  
Dear Rose,  
  
How's school? Kill any patients yet? Just kidding! Everything is actually completely fine with me. (For once.) Johnny and Billy, my brothers, are over in Europe, but both of them are coming home very soon, aren't stupid little injuries in the right places just fantastic? George and I are getting married!!!! The wedding is in October; I hope you can make it. I'm getting started on the invitations today. The whole thing's a hassle, but I'm having fun. Emily is going to be the worst maid of honor. But I can't wait!  
  
George's parents actually like me and gave their 6'4, 220 lb little boy their blessing, even though he's marrying out of the faith. George is Jewish. I know, 'Calvert.' It's a long story. Anyway, he's doing great. He's giddier than I am. He's such a little boy. He's such a mercenary on the outside, but he's a big sap at heart and he knows it.  
  
Alright, Rose, sit down for one of them heavy moments. I want to thank you. When I first came to Columbus I thought leaving Clancy at the alter was crazy. I thought the way I loved George was crazy. But leaving George that night had been the crazy thing. You were the one who told me that I had to follow my heart. And loving people isn't crazy at all. It didn't make 'sense,' but it made sense. You were right. I'm still glad I got to live with the weird lot of you and everyone for that year and a half. Still, what I'm trying to say is if it weren't for you I couldn't have done it.  
  
I'm more stubborn than I let on. If you hadn't said what you said to me that night I would never have realized and I would have never written to George telling him I loved him and wanted to be with him. I even remember exactly what you said: "You were in an unhappy situation and you took yourself out of that. The only illogical part about is that you waited until the last minute to do it. It wasn't crazy, only extreme. Besides life is crazy." Thanks for being there, Rose. I love you.  
  
Miss you—and write back soon damn it,  
  
Mare  
  
P.S. – Stay out of trouble  
  
P.P.S. – I think I over-used the word 'crazy' in this letter, oh well. 


	16. Over There

Endless. That's how everything felt. Endless. After that first wave of men left that's when it really began.  
  
First there were gas victims. Their eyes were so badly damaged. We didn't lose any one these particular patients, but many were left blind.  
  
After that it became truly awful. We got to witness first hand the diseases we only learned about before: trench foot, trench mouth, trench fever, shell shock, missing body parts. We were removing, amputating, irrigating. Pulling out bullets, shrapnel, bits of uniform. Blood, blood, blood.  
  
Everyday I was covered in blood and sweat. I never sweat all that much. I'd never come back soaked from a day of running around, but these days I was drenched.  
  
The heat did nothing to help. One day I found myself talking to a patient. We thought he was a goner for sure. But he was recovering little by little. His was name Private Patrick Kellogg. He was eighteen years old, a farmer's son from Bagley, Idaho. His hair was red like mine. It was the real dark red that I only saw on my mother and myself. He could have just as easily been my little brother. He was a good kid and I liked talking to him, very funny. Pat would live despite his injuries, he could walk, he would not be blind. but he was missing most of the left side of his face.  
  
According to one of his buddies he was the best looking guy in their whole company.or at least he had been. The day after his remarkable recovery he looked and me and asked "Do I look bad?" It was before we got him the plaster mask.  
  
I wanted to cry, but I didn't. I leaned down to him and held his hand and I whispered to him.  
  
"It may not seem like it now or even soon, but I know from getting to know you and seeing the kind of person you are, it's going to be alright. You will be alright."  
  
True enough I had survived losing my home in the Mexican Revolution and subsequently being beat up pretty bad twice after, losing my father, the man I loved, and my best friend, I survived Titanic and came out with my eyesight damaged-(the problem with general vision had been there since and had gotten no worse, but the astigmatism had in the past month), but still I felt like a complete hypocrite-I still had my God damn *face.*  
  
Two days later Chief Nurse Frost called me in to her office. I changed out of my bloodied nursing uniform and back into my blue one. I'd just been in surgery and had lost four patients that day. It was one of those days I wish I had jumped off the boat.  
  
To make things crazier a quarter of the nurses were sick with pneumonia and dysentery and otherwise and another quarter of them were being borrowed by other base hospitals.  
  
At least for those few moments it was nice to be out of stuffy tent that smelled of blood and flesh.  
  
I wondered what I was being called in their for. Anna Frost was one of the most decent people I'd ever met, kind caring, compassionate, competent, but you did not get in her way and mediocrity was no excuse when people's lives were at stake.  
  
I hadn't come under her fire yet and I was wondering if that was what was about to happen.  
  
"Chief Nurse Frost?" I couldn't really fathom what she wanted from me today. *A promotion,* I mused to myself jokingly. US Nurses didn't have ranks then unlike our British counterparts.  
  
"Come in Nurse Dawson. Sit down. We're lending you to another hospital."  
  
*Alright, another hospital. No big deal.* Still I felt something was not quite right.  
  
"Is there something else?"  
  
"We're sending you to an evacuation hospital near the front. Seven others are going as well. All the women here," we were always referred to as 'girls,' but Anna always called us 'women,' "are more capable of handling such situations then most other people, but there are an even lesser few who can handle anything. I believe you, even more than the other seven going, can handle it. I know you are inexperienced and young, but there is something about you; I know you, like few men I've ever known, are capable."  
  
Despite everything thing I'd been through my first reaction was I did not want to go. I felt terrified, but once she finished speaking I simply nodded and asked for the details. I was that kind of person; that's why I volunteered in the first place.  
  
It was hot out the night I left. I was off to an evacuation hospital near Meuse-Argonne. It wasn't a death sentence, but it sure felt like one. We already lost two nurses to disease here at 42, why was I so scared? And it certainly wasn't like I hadn't been in these kinds of situations before.  
  
I broke down in my tent. I was scared. I didn't want to leave. I wanted to throw up. I got my childish sobbing out and I wiped off my face. I put on my glasses and picked up my suitcase and my duffle and walked out.  
  
Looking up at the sky I could see the stars. There were many stars out, like diamonds in the night sky. I remembered a night years before where the stars had been that bright. I was still under that same sky and it seemed I would very soon witness a similar horror under the same blanket of beauty.  
  
***  
  
Now my life truly became endless. There were so many casualties coming in, sometimes I didn't sleep for 24 hours on end. The on and off shellfire and nearby air raids didn't ease my mind either.  
  
We usually weren't too bothered by the air raids. The woods around us were thick making it hard to locate us. Still, they kept buzzing around us for an hour or so making for some tense moments.  
  
The worst thing at first was the new chief nurse, Loretta Long. She seemed more like the Kaiser than a nurse. The German soldiers we took in must have felt at home. I was trying to think of a good name for her, but I could never find the right word. Years later during the next world war my children came up with it after hearing a story or two: "The *Nazi* Nurse."  
  
The worst days I spent there were in late-September and most of October. I had been there about three weeks and had only managed to form anything close to a friendship with one other nurse; everyone else was just a friendly acquaintance or coworker. I started to miss Ada, Carrie, and Amelia desperately. My new friend was Blanche Holland of Colorado. She was about thirty, funny and sweet, and shared in my hatred of Chief Nurse Long. Any other friends I made were soldiers. Again, I found myself among their favorites. My tyrant of a boss would usually accuse me of fooling around with them and tried to get me sent back to the States twice. Needless to say, I missed Anna Frost quite a bit too.  
  
I was taking my break outside the recovery ward smoking two cigarettes. A soldier came up to me, or as it were, wheeled by me in his wheelchair.  
  
"Hello, Rose."  
  
"Hello, Bryan."  
  
"I know you're really stressed and probably need the double dose, but would you mind letting me have one of your cigarettes?"  
  
"Sure." I said. I took my second cig out of my mouth and handed it to him.  
  
"Thanks," he sighed blowing out the smoke and closing his eyes, "Jesus I needed that."  
  
I laughed. Blanche joined us a second later.  
  
"You know, Rose, I saw you from a distance. Before it looked like you had fangs." she said.  
  
"I'm feeling indulgent today."  
  
"Looks like you girls are gonna be occupied today." Bryan pointed.  
  
"Oh no." Blanche said.  
  
We looked to the incoming batch.  
  
"See ya later." Bryan waved as we ran to the new customers.  
  
It was 2 AM by the time we left surgery and I had the morning shift. The shellfire started minutes later. It was closer than usual, but I was too tired to care. They could bomb me right on my head and I wouldn't care.  
  
I didn't go to sleep immediately. I think I had been weaned off sleep somehow. I got a letter that day and hadn't had a chance to even see whom it was from.  
  
Well, here was a bomb so to speak, at least it was good news. Both Sanchezes were getting married. I couldn't picture them as the married types-yes, even though I almost married Manuel. There was going to be a double wedding in San Diego and they were both moving to Los Angeles-and into the same apartment building. I laughed thinking about the time Maria threw a giant metal pot at Manny. Ana Escobar and Ramon Salinas were going to be two very lucky and pitiful souls. I couldn't make it to the wedding for obvious reasons, but it gave me something to smile about.  
  
I tried to sleep after, but I just stared up listening to the popping of anti-aircraft guns. The second I closed my eyes Blanche burst into the tent.  
  
"Rose, get up!"  
  
"What?" I winced.  
  
"More patients."  
  
*Noooo.*  
  
I rose from my cot and Blanche pulled my arm along.  
  
"Come on!"  
  
Running out I could hear the German planes overhead wondering if they'd finally his us tonight. I never made it to surgery that night.sort of. On the way to the operating room Blanche and I were diverted to an ambulance that had tipped over 200 yards from the camp.  
  
On the way there Blanche tried yelling something to me, but she was muffled by the sound of a rocket exploding nearly over our heads. More followed it. White flares lit up the sky. Someone might have thought there was a celebration.  
  
My heart was pounding out of my chest. They were so loud now I thought my brains would burst out my ears and my legs would be detaching from under me. I just kept running to my destination. There was nothing to do but run.  
  
*Run.*  
  
There were already a few nurses there when we arrived. They were pulling the patients out from the overturned vehicle. Blanche and I went in to get the last man out.  
  
I can remember everything that night, regretfully. We lifted the man up, Blanche was standing just outside holding him up under his arms. I was still inside holding him by the ankles. It was so dark in there I couldn't see a thing.  
  
"Ready?!" Blanche called from outside.  
  
Then an explosion from outside.  
  
It wasn't close enough to hit us, but it shook the ground tossing the man and me back and to the side and the doors closed in on us. I lost my balance and his feet crashed into my stomach. Everything tool, every everything poured down on us. The clanking and crashing of metal was everywhere.  
  
He shouted something unintelligible. He was still fully conscious. His voice was familiar. It was unmistakable. A sharp pain went up through the small of back.  
  
I could hear Blanche and another outside shouting and prying at the doors. The ambulance was now upside down.  
  
I staggered to my feet and lifted the man up. Trying not to dig into any wounds. I could feel his warm blood pouring down, but I couldn't tell where it was coming from.  
  
I felt around for anything while trying to regain my balance. It was still so dark. The walls felt so cold on my bare hands.  
  
*I'm gonna get him out of here. I'm gonna get him out of here. I'm gonna get him out of here. We won't die like this.*  
  
"Still with me?!" I asked him desperately.  
  
"I'm still with ya!"  
  
The doors flew open to reveal Blanche and a few others.  
  
"Come we gotcha!" I moved toward their open arms.  
  
Then another explosion. It was right on top of us. We were tossed back into the ambulance once more only this time I could feel heat from outside. We're jostled around for what seemed like an eternity. I hugged him closer feeling the warmth from his wound. I held him close to me making sure nothing else would touch it. His nails were digging into my back and his nose dug into my shoulder. We were tossed and turned and still more crap was falling down on us and hitting us. More raining of metal and there was the loud roar of rockets in the distance. I could feel him breathing down my neck. We screamed inside until it stopped, but there were no screams outside.  
  
"STILL HERE?!"  
  
"STILL HERE!" he answered. *Thank God.*  
  
"We're gonna make it!" I staggered to my feet once more, picked up my patient, and kicked open the door to see no faces this time. There was smoke everywhere and a few dying flames. I looked around desperately.  
  
He started gagging.  
  
*WHERE ARE THEY?!*  
  
We emerged and I brought him out of the smoke and debris from the blast. I set him down for a moment to get a better grip on him and see where he was hurt.  
  
Thank God we were out of the ambulance. It seemed like forever.  
  
"Rose!" he cried.  
  
"Just tell me where it is, Tobey." I could barely see him, my glasses were cracked and covered in God knows what. I ripped them from my face and discarded them  
  
"My stomach, my leg, fucking everywhere, God knows!" he yelled, out of breath and near crying, "Please, Rose you gotta make it stop! I'll never ask anything of anyone ever again! JUST MAKE IT STOP!" He gripped my collar hard with both hands. He was overpowered seconds later by the whistling of bombs followed by loud cracking noises.  
  
"I'm going to get you out of here. The hospital's close. I promise you I'll see you in surgery."  
  
"It hurts so bad!" He continued to writhe on the ground.  
  
"Just stay with me!"  
  
I hoisted him up over my shoulder. I looked for Blanche and company. They had been right there.  
  
*WHERE ARE THEY?!*  
  
The smoke cleared a bit and I could see a few of them. I concentrated for any movement. They were so badly burned I couldn't tell who was who. I needed to see who was alive, but I needed to get Tobey over to safety. I finally located Blanche.or what was left of her. Her entire lower body was gone. No, not Blanche.  
  
I turned away, repressing a cry. Tobey tightened his grip on my back. I started running back toward the hospital. I could it see it, I just kept on it.  
  
*Must get back. Must get back. Must get back. Must get back. Must get back.*  
  
"Rose." Tobey groaned, "your back."  
  
I could hear the guns. Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop.  
  
The ground shook again. I found myself on one foot. I stumbled around nearly falling over, covered in dirt from a nearby blast. I finally regained my balance and moved toward the hospital.  
  
*Run.*  
  
We had to get back. I had to run faster. I had to go faster or we wouldn't make it. Any second we could be blasted to hell. *Faster, faster.*  
  
*Run.*  
  
I just keep running and hobbling through with Tobey's ever growing weight and my damn skirt (why didn't they issue us some God damn pants?!) until I finally saw more nurses.  
  
*Go. Gotta Move.*  
  
Another loud 'boom' shook us once more. I cried out. I just told my legs to move forwards toward them. I had to get to them. I just had to.  
  
*Run!*  
  
"HERE! OVER HERE!" I called to them.  
  
They took him and caught me as I fell over.  
  
While laid out on the stretcher Tobey cupped his hands around mind. "Th- thank you. No matter what. Thank you. I'm going to t-try. I will make it, Rose, I promise.her back!" he turned to the others suddenly, "it's in her back!" They started to pull him away. "I'm in love with Amelia, but you'll always be my angel. You're my guardian angel, Rose."  
  
They took him away.  
  
"He's got a deep wound running from his lower abdomen down through his left leg, possibly a-" I collapsed onto the ground. I felt so dizzy and awful.  
  
"Stay calm, Rose, don't move." said one of the others.  
  
"Blanche! Blanche! Blanche! S-Suzette, Diane, Dana," I tried to remember everyone who was there, "DEAD! They're all dead! B-by the ambulance!" I screamed.  
  
I saw two of them, Miriam and MaryAnn. MaryAnn was holding me by the arms as I screamed on my knees pleading.  
  
"PLEASE HELP THEM!" I kept on screaming.  
  
"We need another stretcher! We can't walk her like this!" Miriam shouted over the noise. Noise. Noise. Bombs, guns, planes. They all merged into one loud constant sound. It was blaring. They were so close today. Too close as I learned.  
  
I was shaking everywhere. There were noises all around us. They were so evil and loud It never stopped it. It never stopped! It never fucking stopped!  
  
Boom, boom, whistle, boom.  
  
I was lifted off the ground. In a moment of terror I shouted to the only thing I could remember.  
  
"JACK!"  
  
***  
  
I slowly opened my eyes. I saw lots of white. I was in the recovery ward- but I was in a bed.  
  
*What am I doing here? Why am I here?*  
  
"Welcome to the other side." said MaryAnn.  
  
"What happened? What am I doing here?"  
  
She took my hand. "You were at the ambulance." I winced. I remembered now.  
  
"I know, I know, I know. Why am I *here*?" I said weakly.  
  
"When you were inside the ambulance it was hit and-"  
  
"It was hit twice." I corrected.  
  
She breathed. "When you fell you fell onto a surgical knife. It was a few inches in. You were lucky though, just missed your kidney. You'll be fine."  
  
"Blanche."  
  
"I know, honey."  
  
"Dana and Suzette and Diane and Ginny and Maude." I remembered the other ones now. "Any of them?"  
  
She shook her head. "I'm so sorry, Rose."  
  
I spoke after a silence.  
  
"What about Tobey?"  
  
"Tobey?"  
  
"Corporal Tobias Jackson. He's the one I brought in."  
  
"I'm not sure. I'll check for you."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"It's alright. That was a very brave thing you did out there. We're all so very proud of you."  
  
"Just my job." I squeaked, shrugging slightly. MaryAnn got up and I rolled over too drained to cry and fell asleep.  
  
***  
  
I woke up again a few hours later. It was evening sometime. Dinnertime to be exact, but I wasn't hungry.  
  
"The food here is even worse than at 42."  
  
*George! Of course he's in Tobey's unit! Tobey and George and Holden! To see those guys again!*  
  
Never was I happy to see any face.  
  
"Oh George. I'm so glad to see you."  
  
He smiled weakly.  
  
"They thought you might want to see me. Holden's here too, somewhere flirting with some nurse. Back together again," he laughed, "How ya feeling?"  
  
"I'm not feeling much now to be honest. How's Tobey?"  
  
He looked down, twisting a fork in his hand.  
  
"I'm so sorry, Rose."  
  
I grabbed my hair on either side and sank farther down into the bed. I could cry now. I tried to grab for something to hold on to. George gave me his hand. After a while of sobbing I finally developed the courage to look at him again.  
  
"I'm sorry!" I cried "I tried to save him! I tried! And he promised!" I started pushing my feet into the mattress.  
  
"It's alright and he knows that. Rose, it wasn't you.or him. It was so bad. There was nothing they could do." He tightened his lips, trying not to cry himself.  
  
Everything was so miserable. I couldn't help but feel I'd given Jack the company of his friend. I never got a chance to tell him. I wanted to die, but then again no. I didn't want to face anybody on either side right now except George.  
  
I hated everything around me and everywhere I could be. There was no point to even going to that ambulance, everyone who was there when I got there had died. Everyone but me.  
  
But I thought this was the best place I could be. George and I had natural trust. As long as he stayed I'd be fine.  
  
It was like the first time I met him six years ago. It was a ward again. I was in bed and ailing and he was watching over me. Now it was an evacuation hospital instead of Bellevue. France instead of New York. But again I lost another sweet-faced boy from Chippewa Falls. How much had happened to both of us in those years between.  
  
"Don't leave." I whispered.  
  
"I won't. I promise. Just keep hangin' in there, Red." That was the first time he called 'Red.'  
  
***  
  
I was in bed for a while. I went from nurse to patient. I would lie awake and listen to the sounds of war and the pounding rain. It rained constantly from the middle to the end of October. Rain, rain, and more rain. And for some variety: rain.  
  
At least the war was finally coming to an end. And my stay at the evacuation hospital was too. They shipped me back to 42 on the 25th.  
  
"Hi Rose!" shouted Catherine and Hazel.  
  
"Welcome back, Rose!"  
  
"Adamay! Everyone!"  
  
"Hi Rose, we're so happy to see." she said with her soft southern voice.  
  
"You! We heard about you!" Carrie slapped me on the back.  
  
I smiled weakly. "Yeah.where's Amelia?" I said softly. I put my hand on her shoulder.  
  
"She's back in our quarters. She's just getting over pneumonia, but don't worry, she's fine. We'll be putting her lazy derrière back to work soon."  
  
"I'm going to go check in on her if you don't mind."  
  
"Alright, but we made you and the others welcome back cakes." said Ada.  
  
"Who made them?" I asked suspiciously.  
  
"Not Benny," said Ada, "Doris, Regina, and I. So they're very safe even with what we had to scrap up. Actually we went into town and got some fresh ingredients."  
  
I smiled and hugged everyone and went back to my old tent.  
  
"Amelia?" I said gingerly and stepped in.  
  
*Amelia*. It was such a pretty name. She was such a pretty person. And sweet, too.  
  
She was sitting up in bed. She had buttermilk skin and honey-colored hair that hung loose. She was wearing a pale pink nightgown. She looked more like a girl of twelve than a professional women of twenty-two.  
  
"Rose, you're back. I hadn't got any letters in weeks from you or Tobey. Today's his birthday; he's twenty-six. I'm sending him a little care package with the good French candy. Oh, I'm so happy you're here again." She stretched out her arms. I went to hug her.  
  
"I'm happy to see you too. I missed you guys so much.listen to me," I felt my stomach churning, it was time to play George now, *suck it up and say it*, I breathed deep, "about Tobey."  
  
***  
  
November 11, 1918,  
  
It was late morning, nearly eleven. In minutes the war would be officially over. Our work wouldn't, but it meant there would be peace and we would be going home in a few months. We had only been there about three and half months, but it felt like much longer.  
  
I remember we were all waiting outside in town. Silently, waiting for the church bells the chime eleven. I was holding Ada's hands. Carrie and Amelia we're right next to us. Amelia was smiling for the first time since I told her about Tobey.  
  
The church bells rang and the entire town cheered and screamed and sang. Ada and I jumped up and hollered. I hugged her so tight and then Carrie and Amelia and anyone else I could find.  
  
"Happy Birthday!" cried Maurice, a French soldier from the hospital, his parents were German and he bore an eerie resemblance to Jack. He was especially glad it was over.  
  
"Who's birthday?!" I shouted over the noise.  
  
"Everyone's!" He picked me up and whirled me around and kissed me on the mouth.  
  
A band in town started playing the French National Anthem, then the American, then "When the Saint's Go Marching In."  
  
Bazoilles was alive again and there was much celebration.  
  
"Evelyne!" someone called.  
  
A black-haired little girl ran by me.  
  
"Bonjour mademoiselle!" she said.  
  
"Bonjour fille!" I smiled. She hid behind me as her mother came. Both were very beautiful, the mother's face was hard, though. Not as beautiful as it had been I presumed. Her hard life was on her face. I guessed she was in her late thirties.  
  
"Evelyne! Pardon moi, mademoiselle. My daughter's run away on me again. She eis a little devil."  
  
"That's alright."  
  
"Ah, my Evelyne, come out now. We go meet our friends for lunch and celebration at ze café."  
  
"My, you speak good English."  
  
"I used to live in Paris, I knew many, many different people zere. I learned much. The good things I learned I teach to my daughter. I am glad to be here now. Life in Paris was not good. I come out here I am a whole new person, I raise my child properly in this nice little town, and I get zis little mischief-maker," she smiled warmly, "I am Madame Simone LeClerc."  
  
"Nurse Rose Dawson. Pleased to meet you."  
  
"And you. You remind me very much of an old friend. One of my two friends that made me go here. Same name as well. Do you have a Jack in your family?"  
  
My eyes widened. *Jack?* I pursed my lips and slowly shook my head. *She knows Jack?*  
  
"Maman!" the girl called to her mother. She was running down the street pointing to the café.  
  
"I'm sorry I must go."  
  
She walked off, following her daughter. I noticed she walked strangely. She had a wooden leg.  
  
*Oh my.* I smiled. It couldn't be.  
  
By January, it was time to pack up and say goodbye to my roommates, my boss, all the other girls, and the town of Bazoilles. We had a choice to remain with the Red Cross and stay or go back home.  
  
Well, they weren't sure about my back and wasn't sure if I was ready again. I thought maybe I join up again in a few years, but not now. I didn't go back home either with the rest of them. After I was relieved I stayed behind and went to Paris. 


	17. Over There

Paris, February 1919  
  
*There.* I smiled looking at myself in the mirror. After I returned to 42 I had to get new glasses. The rims were even thicker than my old ones. When I got to Paris I got new ones again. They were more stylish and made me look less like a librarian.  
  
*Then again, no.* I took off my glasses and placed them into my handbag. I was out of some form of uniform for the first time in months. I was wearing my normal clothes. It was the first time in quite a long time I'd looked at myself admiringly in the mirror. I was wearing a white dress that exposed my shoulders. The ends were cut wavy and there was a big brown belt around my waist. It was something I picked up when I was in New Mexico. It was definitely looked like it came out of that area. My hair was half up. I was wearing long dangling gold earrings and rings on my fingers, my ex-engagement ring from Manny included.  
  
I laced up my big brown boots, picked up my bags, and walked of my little hotel room and out into Paris.  
  
The last time was there was seven years ago. Before our long stay in London we made stops in France and Spain. Last time was I was in Paris I was on a shopping spree. I bought from all the most fashionable French designers. Now I was dressed in clothing of my own design.  
  
Today I decided to visit Montmartre. My mother would have cut my legs off if I even *asked* about going there in 1912. I did it to explore for myself, maybe see some places Jack might have gone, see the Moulin Rouge perhaps, and most of all: have a good time. I never found Madame Bijoux or the one-legged prostitute, but somehow I suspected she had moved on to someplace else. I wished I had gotten a better look at Madame LeClerc's hands.  
  
I found another hotel that afternoon, on with a dance hall on the first floor. I bounced around everywhere until early morning. Nightclub to nightclub, dance hall to dance hall. I danced all night.  
  
I was ready to drop where I stood by the time I reached the door to my room. Just as I slipped the key into the lock there was an "Oh my God!" There were actually two of them, but they came at the same time.  
  
"You two again!" I skipped over to the balcony that overlooked the lobby. "I should call the authorities. I don't need to be stalked like this you know."  
  
"I thought they sent you back home." Holden called.  
  
"They wouldn't be expecting me anyway. You of all people should know that." I smiled knowingly.  
  
"Staying out of trouble?" George asked.  
  
"No, not really. What are you two doing anyway?"  
  
"We've got weekend passes. Then we go home in two weeks."  
  
"Back to Pittsburgh, oh joy of joys." Holden shook his first victoriously.  
  
"Then go someplace else. I don't think I'm going back to Manhattan right away.or even staying in Jersey with my parents." George sighed.  
  
"Where are you going, George?" I said as I descended down the stairs.  
  
"Dunno.anywhere."  
  
"Well, somebody's looking Latin today." Holden got a look at my outfit. "What's gotten into to you senorita?"  
  
"Somebody Latin." George winked.  
  
Holden looked at him.  
  
"I used to live in New Mexico. Almost married a Mexican."  
  
"I see."  
  
"Well, boys, I'm off to bed." I sighed and shrugged.  
  
"So are we. We're right up there, too." George pointed. He led the way upstairs. He went into his room almost immediately.  
  
"Poor bastard," Holden sighed, I raised an eyebrow. "I didn't know him before, but I'm told he's very different than he used to be. We bumped into this guy last night who knew him back in Jersey when they were in school. Said he didn't think he was talking to the same guy." I thought for moment. Thinking about his whole demeanor when I first met him and then on the train. It was not the same. "He's still a funny bastard as ever I told him, but he said look he never *really* laughs at anything anymore. His fiancée.and did you hear about him when he first came over here?"  
  
"No."  
  
"There's a blast where he is, right? He checks for any other survivors and everyone is sure dead. He's there completely alone and is just being bombarded. Hours later he finally works up the will to crawl someplace else. So he climbs out and when he lands in the new trench.everybody's dead there, too."  
  
"Oh Jesus." Of all the people that could happen to.  
  
"He makes friends with practically all the men and all the men love him, but he's one of the most unhappy people I've ever met."  
  
"Give him time."  
  
"Well, I've got plenty of that if he wants it."  
  
I smiled. "Are you going to take the job?"  
  
"What job?"  
  
"Your address was on the back of a letter or part of it anyway."  
  
"Oh, which one? I don't really read his."  
  
"Let's see.new niece, Tak from the mailroom, and of course the job offer."  
  
"Yamamoto! I love that guy!" I cupped my hand over his mouth. The last people to turn in this hotel went in between two and three.it was four. "He's really funny," he whispered, "this tall, loudmouthed, Asian kid with a Canadian accent. It's the most amazing thing you've ever seen.I'm thinking about the job.but Tak's the greatest. "  
  
"Then marry him. If you want to wake up a bunch of drunk frogs and soldiers you can answer to them."  
  
"Come with me tomorrow."  
  
"Come with you where?"  
  
"Anywhere, we'll just leave for somewhere in the morning. George is going to see that school friend he found before and nobody else can stand me for very long."  
  
"As you know I can't stand you for very long either."  
  
"Just take me in strides, Bukater, take me in strides."  
  
"It's the only way-oh and eleven at the earliest. I intend to sleep in."  
  
"Amen to that. 'Night, Rose."  
  
"Goodnight, Holden."  
  
***  
  
Noon  
  
A knock came on the door.  
  
"Alive?" asked Holden.  
  
"I'm afraid that's rather a gray area, Corporal Hockley."  
  
"Ack!" Holden spun around. He looked once more at my door then at me. "You're supposed to be in there."  
  
"I'm supposed to be dead, too, but that doesn't seem to be happening either.I washed up first," I pointed to the bathroom down the hall.  
  
"And you're back in uniform." He looked at my white uniform, cape, and straw hat. "I thought 42 had packed up and gone."  
  
"All my other clothes are dirty, besides makes me feel important."  
  
"And we get to prance around showing off that we're absolute Yanks."  
  
"Of course."  
  
We left the hotel a few minutes later and strolled down the streets of Paris. We ate breakfast.or was it lunch, at a small café. (Well, it was a mid-day meal, but also our first meal of the day.)  
  
It was a beautiful day. Sun out, sky blue, air crisp. I loved Paris and now I could finally explore any part of it I wanted to.  
  
We planned to go down to the Seine. Unfortunately, we got a little lost. Of course, because it was Holden and me, we worked it out in a polite and civilized manner.  
  
"We are not lost." he insisted.  
  
"Yes we are. If you ease up for one second I can get us un-lost." I grabbed the map from his hand.  
  
"You should know your way around a little better."  
  
"So should you. And I haven't been here in seven years, thank you very much. Now," I said, "if we head down this street-"  
  
"It'll take us two hours to get there."  
  
"Let's just ask how to get there."  
  
"No, no. I can figure this out."  
  
"Why is it men never ask for directions? Either ask or take this street on to that one." I pointed. He grabbed for the map I pulled it away.  
  
"Will you quit thinkin' with your tits and gimme the map?" He grabbed it out of my hands. He started mulling over the map thinking up paths as opposite to mine as they could be.  
  
Twenty minutes later we got directions.  
  
By about 3 or so we found ourselves on the grass looking out at the Seine, (finally). It was an unusually warm day for February so I took off my cape and hat and stuffed my glasses in my bag.  
  
"What have you been doing these past seven years?" I asked him.  
  
"Nothing really. Lounging around the company working in the office doing monkey jobs and getting paid more than I earn. What about you?"  
  
"Lived a bunch of different places. New York, Chicago, New Mexico, Texas, Los Angeles, Baltimore. I was in play and some stuff on vaudeville and a movie. And of course nursing school."  
  
"A movie?"  
  
"With Gigi Dubois. Met her right before her big break."  
  
"That's something. Which Gigi movie?"  
  
"'A Day in the Park.' A short. And I accidentally.at least I like to think 'accidentally' joined the Villistas down in Mexico and before that I was with the suffragettes, but besides the basic rights we were fighting for I didn't see eye to eye completely. The whole temperance thing." My thoughts went to our distiller back at 42.  
  
"Well, you'll be getting the vote and no alcohol this time next year in the States. Didn't you have a distiller in your room back at 42?"  
  
"Sshh." I smiled wryly.  
  
"Yes, Rose, you are ever the rebel. You are so bad."  
  
"Yes, we both are."  
  
"Just a couple rich kids rebelling."  
  
We smiled and there was a silence. We stared out at the river. I sat there pretending to be at ease and concentrating on thoughts I should not be having.  
  
"Lady with a Parasol." he said.  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"The Renoir painting. You look like it." I smiled not really knowing what to say. He continued. "It drives me crazy. It's not even the death thing after a while. The girl next door suddenly becomes this strange woman of mystery."  
  
"I'm just me. I change like everyone else, but it's still me."  
  
"No, something happened to you. Maybe a few somethings."  
  
"I think you get the basic idea of what it is." I laid down next to him.  
  
"You'll always be Bukater to me." he grinned.  
  
"That's a scary thought." I smiled, whispering down to him.  
  
"Well, whatever I say is creed." He moved in closer. His hair was flopped over his right eye.  
  
I knew I wanted to-and badly. *It's now or never, girl.*  
  
I brushed the hair from his eye and pulled his face to mine. The reaction was better than I expected. He kissed me back and deeply. He wrapped his arms around me tight. We devoured the other's lips and broke away after a long time. He helped me up, offering his hand.  
  
"Let's go anywhere. I'll take you anywhere."  
  
"Let's stay here." I pulled him back down to the grass and kissed him again.  
  
"Of all the crazy things I've done I never imagined I'd be here like this. And I'd never thought I'd even fathom telling my brother's wife not to think with her tits.sorry about that."  
  
I snaked my arms around his neck. "It's alright," I laughed, "I never imagined I'd actually like you this much."  
  
"There's actually a lot to like about me, you just have to look a little harder." he said kissing my mouth every few words.  
  
We lay there on the banks of the Seine. I curled up next to him and buried my face in his chest.  
  
*Holden Hockley,* I thought, *never did pick conventional ones.*  
  
***  
  
After dinner we went back to the hotel to go dancing. Holden was waiting outside for me again. I was still dizzy from before. It was the kind of kiss that made your thighs burn. At least he could say he had one major talent up on his brother.  
  
Holden leaned against the railing and breathed. A man came up to him. An Australian. Note to the wanderer: everywhere you go there will always be Australians.  
  
"Hey there, soldier."  
  
"Hey there."  
  
"Waiting for your girl?"  
  
He thought for a second. "Yeah." he smiled.  
  
"Special one, is she?"  
  
"Nurse, old friend in a way."  
  
"Soldiers falling in love with their nurses, common tale.combination of fear from the battle and the sight of an angel that nurses you back to health."  
  
"Actually more of a combination of incest and necrophilia."  
  
"You're an odd one," laughed the man, "how do you figure that."  
  
"Half-brother's dead fiancée."  
  
"Sorry about your loss, son. Probably should've gone falling for her then if she was your brother's."  
  
"No, she left him. And she's right in there." He pointed to my door. He breathed. "It's a long story."  
  
"I might think so.well, I'd best be going. Got a date to catch." He slid down the railing. Holden waved. He turned around and knocked on my door.  
  
"How long does it take you to get dressed. I thought you gave that speech before about sensible underwear? Does take 3 hours to get on, too?" I opened the door.  
  
"Holy Christ."  
  
I was wearing an old dancer girl outfit I'd picked up in a second hand shop a day or so earlier. Five months in the hospital eating that disgusting food and working 'round the clock I'd lost a little weight, but the "dress" I was wearing was still a little tight to put it mildly.  
  
"It was an angel outfit, but they didn't have the halo and wings anymore."  
  
"You bought a burlesque costume?"  
  
"Sure did."  
  
"Looks good." He didn't say anything for moment. I raised my eyebrow. "Just not used to seeing you like that."  
  
"Let's dance."  
  
We made our way down to the dance floor. We turned around to face each other. A familiar scene. Nearly eight years ago we danced together at my debutante ball.  
  
"Remember this?" I asked.  
  
"Don't worry. We'll have a little more fun this time." He grabbed me tight and swung me around and lifted me up.  
  
We could've danced for days if we weren't thinking of other things. We took a break to get drinks after an hour.  
  
"God, French women simply annoy the bollocks out of me." said the woman next to me. She was Lt. Patricia Jones, a British nurse. "Stupid, pouting, and brainless." We were staring at a display of British soldier flirting with a French girl. "I say we're just as attractive as that little twit and look at how men react to her."  
  
"Think of where we'll be in ten years and think where she'll be."  
  
She smiled. "That from someone dressed like a burlesque dancer."  
  
"I'm with the Red Cross.or I was. Real men prefer strong women despite what anybody says. It takes a real man to handle anything more than or doormat or a bimbo. Maybe the same goes for women, too."  
  
"Well, I'm off to shop around." Holden came up behind me. Patricia got a good look at him. "So I see the strong, overpowering American way does work."  
  
"I hope the strong, overpowering British way works, too." I smiled.  
  
"Guess who's back." said Holden. He gestured with his head over to the other side of the room. I squinted. "Annoying private and Calvert, twelve o'clock"  
  
"Well, Banker, you have an intelligence rivaled only by garden tools." said George to the other men.  
  
We went over to him. I asked George to dance.  
  
"You're not as nice you put on you know." I told him.  
  
"I'm too clever to be nice." He swung me around. "What's going on between you and the darling of Pittsburgh?"  
  
"Nothing." I said innocently.  
  
"Don't play with me, Dawson. You don't have to lie. He's a bit of ass, but he's good guy, trust me."  
  
"Yes, George, there's something going on."  
  
"You and the bouncing baby brother of Hockley Steel. Strange territory, but it shouldn't too unfamiliar."  
  
"Calvert, you have no idea."  
  
"Look at him over there I think he's getting jealous. I'll give ya back now." He picked me up, carried me over, and tossed me to Holden. "Catch!"  
  
"Hello." I said to Holden.  
  
"You kids have fun." He skipped off across the dance floor.  
  
"Bye Calvert!" we waved.  
  
Holden carried me out onto the dance and spun me around until he almost lost his balance.  
  
"Aren't you going to put me down?" He put me down and held around the middle and spun me around again. My feet nearly hit a few people. Then we whirled around dancing faster than the music until it finally caught up with us, improvising dance that hadn't been invented yet. We were a hit.  
  
After another hour we decided to call it a night. The stairs were crowded with people going up and down.  
  
"'Scuse us. Slightly intoxicated Americans coming through!" he called, pulling me by the hand. I closed the door behind us once we entered my room. Holden gave me a mischievous smile.  
  
"Watch this." he said. He made a monkey face. I started laughing.  
  
"That's extremely attractive. Where did you learn that?" Realizing, he sat down.  
  
"Tobey." he said softly. He ran his hands through his hair. I sat down beside him on the bed.  
  
"I'm sorry." I said, trying not to cry. He pulled me close to him and grabbed my face.  
  
"Never think it was your fault. It was war and you did everything you could to help him," he released me, "people die everyday. Why should we whine?"  
  
"He was our friend."  
  
"And don't think I don't miss him and it doesn't hurt me. I don't have too many friends and that goofball was the first guy to talk to me. He was one of the best friends I ever had. And Jesus, I know you were right there when it happened and I know what happened to you and I'm sorry I never came to see you after, but I couldn't handle it." As soon as he said 'you were right there' I started sobbing. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to make you.I'm sorry, Rose." He reached out, awkwardly, to hold me again; he was afraid I would turn on him and push him away. As soon as he touched me I fell into his arms. After a few minutes I got up to wipe my face. "Will you be alright?" he asked. He put his hand on my shoulder, about to leave. I looked at his image in the bureau mirror.  
  
"Don't leave."  
  
"Whatever you want." I turned around wiping his tears. I wrapped my arms around his neck and put our noses together. I kissed his neck slowly moving from one side to the other, caressing every inch of it with my lips.  
  
"Make love to me." I breathed. He paused for a moment then brushed my hair behind my ear and kissed me fiercely. I found myself pressed to the wall, undoing his uniform. He lifted me up and pushed me harder into the wall. I wrapped my legs around his waist. We were still fully dressed.except in the key parts. Our foreheads were pushed together so hard we could have bruised each other. We gasped and screamed and moaned, nearly crying. Here's where I got a glimpse of just what an intense person Holden was. He seemed so passive when I first met him, seeming to avoid everything like he desperately wanted to stay on the outside. Now here he was, inside me from both ends, plunging in further and further, his hot tongue exploring every inch of my mouth. Some of it was from passion, some of it was from a shared pain-it was almost violent.  
  
***  
  
Hours later we were lying in bed. Eventually, we had worked our way over to it and managed to remove all our clothes. It was so intense, so desperate. We needed each other so badly, offering a comfort no other person could have given us. The war, Tobey, the secret-which I swear had more to do with it than the fact that I hadn't had sex since 1916. I never got around a lot, but when I did.  
  
It was calmer now. I lay there, resting my head on his shoulder with my arm flung lazily over his chest. As a joke I offered to tell him what the Hockley boys had in common: he declined. Right now we were playing a 'name game' so to speak. One of us would mention one of our mutual associates and the other would say a word to describe them. Then the other would add on.  
  
"Mariah Abbot." Holden said.  
  
"Twit."  
  
"Mrs. Hockley." I burst out laughing. I was laughing so hard it was painful; I almost fell off the bed.  
  
"What a beautiful match. So she's the mother of your nieces?"  
  
"The nieces I know about at least. Eleanor Frances, Isabel Rose, and Caroline Marie."  
  
"Not only did it breed, it named a child after me." I sat up, stunned.  
  
"All their middle names are for dead people. I guess they were running out.you really hate him, don't you? I mean you *hate* him."  
  
"I have my reasons.reasons I'm not ready to share." He twisted his mouth. He really wanted to know why. There was more to the secret I wasn't telling-and I wasn't going to.  
  
"Shit, I have to report back in an hour," he kissed me on the mouth and got up, "I'll see you back in the States, beautiful. I'll take you to meet my family. I'm sure they'll love you." I laughed. He grabbed my hands as I swung my feet over the side. "Wouldn't it be wonderful. 'Mama, Cal, Mariah, meet my new girlfriend, Rose.' They've got this family friend though. Her daughter was engaged to my brother. She was a little cool with Mariah when she came along. I'm not sure how she'll be about you. I know: we'll get married. The looks on their faces! It would be horrible, but wouldn't it be great?!" We laughed so hard  
  
"Oh, it would, if only. Listen, when I get home I'm going back to California. Come to California with me, Holden." His manner completely changed.  
  
"Why? I can't. I got a life someplace else. I thought about it before," he paced, "I'm taking the job.it's part of my family business and I like it. I'm going to take it over, you'll see. Maybe you could go there.but stay low."  
  
"I can't go to Pittsburgh, you know that." I stood up, pulling on my bathrobe. He walked around the room, picking up his clothes and began dressing himself. "Besides, you'll love Los Angeles. I know you will. It's so much more exciting anyway, please."  
  
"Don't misunderstand me. I want us together, but it would be so hard.who knows what they'll do to you."  
  
"Spank me and tell me I've been a bad little girl?"  
  
"You faked your own death for Chrissake! And you went to University-I know you would've had to pull a few illegal strings to do that. It'll be more than a scandal: it'll be nationwide news. I know they won't protect you like I will."  
  
"You were the one who just told me to go to Pittsburgh!"  
  
"I don't know. I'm sorry, Rose. I can't handle this. It's just too hard to figure out." He looked pained.  
  
"If we want to we can make it, believe me," his expression changed, as if he'd just been shot through the heart, ".what?"  
  
"I just realized this is never going to work.you may have been the best thing that's ever happened to me, but I'm not ready to deal with what's going to happen to us. We've been so foolish. If we don't separate now they'll tear us apart and leave scars our children couldn't wipe away."  
  
"No! You're just scared!"  
  
"Yes, of course I'm scared, but *just* scared?" He went to the door ready to leave. I stared at him pleadingly, but did not follow. "I have to go. I'm not ready to leave my whole life behind."  
  
*You don't have to.*  
  
"Rose.I lo-" he hesitated and gave me a half-hearted wave. Then the door closed with an unforgiving click that kept echoing in my mind.  
  
I always thought I was immune to what was hitting me now. Even with Manny I loved him and felt utterly guilty, but now there was something else now. I went for seven years believing that with Jack's love I could never have my heart broken by another man. It wouldn't matter. 'Jack Dawson loves me; who else could matter?'  
  
But I fell in love with Holden. He loved me too as it turns out.but not enough to stay. I would have stayed for him. Crazy as it sounds I would have faced everyone holding his hand saying: 'Rose DeWitt Bukater lives and I love this man.' God, I really did love him.  
  
I left for America the next week. I touched down on my home soil for the first time in over six months and all I could feel was sadness and disappointment. I returned home regarded as heroine, but I never felt like one.  
  
I hopped on the first train going west with two pieces of luggage and a broken heart. 


	18. Hollywood

New Year's Eve 1919 Los Angeles, California  
  
It was the last day alcohol would be legal in the United States and people were drinking more than ever. I seriously doubted that prohibition would ever work. Nothing would keep the thirsty masses from their drinks.  
  
I looked around the smoke filled room trying to locate Gigi. Another big party with stars, drinks, and drugs. It was like my old world all over again only looser. I passed by Bob Holmes, a photographer on the last two pictures I'd been in. I'd been in four features since I'd arrived. The one I was wrapping up was my second non-Gigi. Bob gave me sensual look. He was drunk and he wasn't getting more from me. *If he thinks for a moment.if he comes near me.*  
  
I had to leave. Not just the party, but L.A, too. Nursing was originally a plan B in case acting didn't pay off as I had hoped. But now it seemed the more appealing option. I loved acting itself. The particular crowd I had chosen in Los Angeles I was less enchanted with, save for my boyfriend and Gigi. I was going to tell Gigi I was leaving as soon as my next picture wrapped. I thought I was so lucky to find success so easily in less than a year, but at what a price.  
  
The whole year had been one big distortion, one never-ending nightmare, one big false hope. I was going back to New York in two weeks and no one was going to stop me. I was finally ready to seek out Emily and Joe Dawson and tell them the truth. *Oh no.* I remembered. I had to confront and break things off with Dale, too. I promised myself that I'd be out of there in two weeks.  
  
I looked all night and couldn't find either of them. I gave up. I still had two weeks to give them notice and I would be on my way. I needed to get home now. My cozy little apartment I had moved into over the summer. I was so proud of it when I first got there. Now I couldn't wait to get out. To explain everything I should probably start from the beginning.  
  
***  
  
The moment I got on the train on my first day back in the States I decided to move my 'trust fund' a.k.a the $200, 000 from Cal's coat from the coat within my suitcase to a handbag I used to stow away my regular money. *It's as good as my money anyway, might as well keep with the rest.* I knew, I'd get to Los Angeles, buy myself a nice house-enough to live comfortably, but nothing too big or lavish, put the rest in the bank, and see if I couldn't look up Gigi. This was a very, very big and foolish mistake on my part.  
  
Somewhere between trains I decided to go for a hike, no reason to hurry my trip. I also thought a venture in the wonder of nature would get my mind off Holden-he was all I thought about.  
  
I had been exploring the public forests and parks in and around Klamath, Oregon for about a week when I decided to moved southwards into California. I decided to go on a hike I got myself map and picked a trail. There weren't many people around as it was February. Under normal circumstances I would have been at little wary of being so alone, but I desperately wanted and needed that right now. I had to get away from the civilized world awhile. I took the Little North Fork Trailhead and set off early in the morning. I hadn't gotten up early in a month. It was hard getting out of bed, especially when I was the only there to haunt me and tell me to get ready. Eventually, I did make it out from my lodge room to the park.  
  
It was cold, but I had on a warm winter coat and clothes. I brought all my belongings with me for I planned to stay at the campsites in Devils Canyon Meadow. The first few hours weren't too bad. After a while my bags got heavy and I got hungry. I stopped at a convenient looking spot just off the trail to eat my lunch. I thought of walking because it didn't look like I would make it there by evening. Then I remembered what the tired, hungry Rose was like and realized there would be no one to bitch and whine to, so I sat down and ate.  
  
After I finished eating I climbed over to gigantic rock I had been eying while I was eating. It was slightly further off the trail-as in I saw it from a distance and it took ten minutes to get there. Once I reached it seemed worthwhile. The view was gorgeous. It was still at a low elevation, but the way the sun hit the trees, most of which were enormous cedars, it was absolutely beautiful. I could see much of the Marble Mountain Wilderness: cedars, lakes and streams. It was perfect and beautiful, like it was just the way God intended.  
  
It was then my lack of sleep and physical exertion caught up with me and I decided to rest my head for a spell. The brief rest turned into a nap, which lasted for a little longer than I would have thought. I moved my head from my suitcase. I scrunched my toes in my big boots. They were going numb. I glanced at my watch.  
  
"Oh shit!" It was three in the afternoon. I'd never make it before dark. I got up, looking around in what was now only a slight panic. I went to look over to the opposite side. Running across, I slipped and fell. I came down funny on my left ankle. I heard a distinct crack. *Oh shit.* I tried to get up and stand on it, but it was so painful. After several pathetic and agonizing attempts to stand on it I sat down. A moment later I regained my breath and hobbled around looking for any sign of human life. Nothing.  
  
But then-people! Two of them. Men. Down on the trail. I could see them! I wasted no time.  
  
"HEY!" I called as loud as I could. "HEY! PLEASE HELP!" Nothing. It was far, but they could surely hear me. Were they ignoring me? I couldn't fathom why. "PLEASE!!!!" I screamed. "Shit shit shit!!!" I cursed to myself.  
  
After an eternity of screaming they disappeared. Desperate for anything I crawled over to my suitcases. I rummaged through the first one that I had used as a pillow then went to the next. One of the locks was undone. I could have just not snapped it tight. I opened it. The moneybag was missing. Now I knew why they were ignoring me. They thought I was reacting to being robbed. It wasn't just Cal's money. It was also the $900 I had saved over the years. I checked everywhere. I had three dollars. For the first time I was truly destitute. What a fool I had been in Chicago. I considered myself as good as penniless then when I had run out of "my" money. It wasn't a horrific disaster and the decision to abandon everything I had known before that really left me insolvent, but a quiet burglary. *Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God, Oh God, oh God.*  
  
"My coat money," "my pocket money," "my savings account," "my children's college fund," "the Hockley Steel charity donation," those were all the names I referred to Cal's money as. I rarely ever spoke them aloud, merely thought them in my head. I couldn't get it back now. I couldn't even climb down. I'd sat by the side, contemplating how to get down with all my stuff. But it proved impossible. I was stuck.  
  
I put my head back on my suitcase and cried. After an hour or so it got dark and I stopped weeping. I thought I might sleep again, but it was getting cold. I had a particular hatred of extreme cold. It was February in the mountains of Northern California. This was beyond not good.  
  
"I don't care. I don't fucking care." I declared and laid my head back on the suitcase. Then I felt a little drop of wet cold on my lower lip. I stuck out my tongue.waiting. Another one. I sat up, looking around and squinting. Yes, snowflakes. "Oh bloody." I cried. It was time to be resourceful.  
  
I had had worse. The most scared I'd ever been was not Titanic, but Argonne. There was no Jack to be strong for me. There was just as much death, more actually. But there I had to be the strong one; Jack couldn't do it for me. I was fearing for my own life, but now I was the one in charge of the other person's. Tobey was too hurt to care for his own or anybody else's.yet still he thought of me and voiced it when he saw the knife. Yet, each time my number one concern was for the man next to me. And each time my worst fears were consummated. Now there was only me. And my worst fear was *my* death. I was beginning to think my number was finally up.  
  
I pulled out my cigarette lighter. *Haha. Didn't get my lighter you sons of bitches.* Granted all they took was the money. I put stones together in a circle, collected twigs and began tearing up the empty sheets of paper from my notebook. I lit a sheet with one flick of the lighter and placed it in. It slowly grew to a roaring fire. I took my clothes from one suitcase and made a makeshift pillow and threw my A.E.F. cape over my middle as a blanket. *Didn't teach me this in finishing school.*  
  
I slept only a few hours and got up again to tend to the fire. The snow had not amounted to more than a flurry. I was lucky this time. I got more wood and collected and saved any other useless paper I could find. I wished right then I could be in Columbus the way it was. My friends were there where I needed them, the weather would be mild, Mary was still alive, and save for the end, it was always safe and peaceful.  
  
I closed my eyes and rested for another hour. I couldn't risk falling into a deep sleep again. I wondered how long I could keep the fire going. I certainly didn't want frostbite. By morning the temperatures wouldn't be as harsh, but it would still be cold and I hoped that the fire would attract the attention of someone friendly.  
  
The next morning I checked out my ankle. It was most definitely broken. If I were one of my patients I would have forbidden me to walk on it, but I didn't have much of a choice. I did the most I could for it, made a splint and wrapped it tight with a blouse. I had two sandwiches and half a canteen of water-there wasn't enough snow where I was to melt to make enough water. For the first time I was so helpless and alone. My only choice was to hope someone came along. I was left to the mercy of anything. I felt like a useless leech. My sense and medical training told me there was no way I could safely climb down. I'd most likely kill myself if I tried. I shouldn't have gone up in the first place. I remembered making the two trips up so I could get both my suitcases up there. *I should have bought duffels instead.*  
  
Today was my birthday, too. I was twenty-four. I wouldn't have imagined it before, but today was bleaker then my seventeenth. My cousin Victoria's birthday was a few weeks ago. On her eighth birthday she declared herself '8 on the 8th' and we concluded I would be '24 on the 24th' and here I was. I lit myself a cigarette. *Happy Birthday Me.* As I learned from Holden she was married to Adam Christianson with a little girl named Blythe.  
  
As the day went on I started talking to myself, after all, throwing rocks off the edge and seeing how far they would go would only entertain for so long and I kept up the routines of the fire and planned to have a half a sandwich at the end of the day. Not that I had anything against turkey sandwiches, but what I really wanted was smoked gouda cheese. Don't ask why. After my dinner of half a turkey sandwich I sang myself "Happy Birthday"-I worked on hitting the notes perfectly. Extreme boredom was overtaking me.  
  
By the next morning I started raving monologues to wilderness. Here's a few of them:  
  
"This is my rock now. It is my home. This my God damn rock. I hereby declare this 'Rose's God Damn Rock.' They can take my money, they can take my honor, but they can never take my rock! I'm Rose bloody Dawson and I'm free!!" After I ripped off Winston Churchill with that last line I decided to do some Shakespeare. I stood at the edge with a big stick for balance. I let my hair gloriously blow in the wind.  
  
"This day is call'd the feast of Crispian.  
  
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,  
  
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,  
  
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.  
  
He that shall live this day, and see old age,  
  
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,  
  
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian.'  
  
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,  
  
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispian's day.'  
  
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,  
  
But he'll remember, with advantages,  
  
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,  
  
Familiar in his mouth as household words-  
  
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,  
  
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-  
  
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.  
  
This story shall the good man teach his son;  
  
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,  
  
From this day to the ending of the world,  
  
But we in it shall be remembered-  
  
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;  
  
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me  
  
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,  
  
This day shall gentle his condition;  
  
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed  
  
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,  
  
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks  
  
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day"  
  
I sat down. The English army was not as roused as I had hoped. It was probably the greatest speech I'd ever known and I thought I did a very decent job of it. I looked a little more like Elizabeth I than Henry V, but I still thought it was good. I couldn't wait to go back to acting. I always loved the idea since I was a little girl, but I never got it right. Even when I practiced alone in my room where no one could hear me I still couldn't speak the words loud enough or with enough feeling or conviction. Somehow I knew it was in me somewhere. It wasn't until Jack came along that I could do it. He naturally brought it out of me. I wasn't afraid anymore-and even if I was I had the courage anyway.  
  
I clutched my chest guiltily at the thought of him. I still loved him, I would all my life. But my love had changed and evolved. Even when I was with Manny I was still in love with Jack. But now truly loved someone else. For seven years there was no one but Jack. Now that had died. I owed too much to him to love Holden in his place! But I did. Sometimes I still wanted Jack, but it wasn't the same. Had he appeared in front of me at that very moment I would have leapt into his arms and never looked back, but that was never going to happen. But he was always 'the one', he was my soul mate, but I was passionately in love with someone else? It would only end if I forgot all about Jack Dawson, but that I could never do-nor did I ever want to. I was beginning to see his death for the harsh reality it was. But the man I wanted to love was Holden. Just to hear him call me Bukater again. I wanted see him, talk to him, hold him, kiss him, make love to him. All of these I seemed to have done well when I was with him, but I couldn't make him stay.  
  
I woke up the next morning with half a sandwich left, no water, and Holden on my mind. I had been there for three days. It was only a few days, but I was starving and freezing. I'd be dead in a few more and I was at the mercy of anything willing to help. I was starting to go crazy-literally.  
  
"Damn you, Holden! DAMN YOU!!" He knew about me. After all I'd done he'd never betray me. It was our secret alone: Rose and Holden's special, glorious, and delectable secret. He knew everything except for Jack and Cal's actions, but I let him have a pretty good idea of it. I only gave Mrs. Brown a brief history. (By the way, I sent her the idol and she saw it to a proper museum.) He knew much more than she. We came from the same world and had the same views of it-views few other people would tolerate. "WHY?!" He loved me, he almost said it. He was too much of a coward to stay. I wondered if he was suffering as I was. A hard-earned trust and an unlikely friendship led to our rare bond and he gave it up so his life would be comfortable again. Damn our families. They got the better of him.  
  
Maybe he didn't love me. Was he just using me? Things were starting to heat up a little just before he left 42. There was something between before either of us wanted to admit it to ourselves. But he was reeling after that first kiss and the way he made love to me. The moment I said it he had me against the wall and he couldn't get in soon enough. Obviously, he had wanted me, too, but I was the one who outright said it. Was he just giving the lady what she wanted? He was a good person at heart, but maybe he was a little more like his half-brother than I wanted to believe. P This might be where my romantic love for Jack started to truly die. "Look at you, Rose. Seven years hard work destroyed! You have nothing! Poor, sweet Jack Dawson. What a fool ever to believe in me. He was a little boy who fell for a beautiful girl and thought he saw something. It happens all the time. I'm beautiful, educated, and worldly and I'm a failure!!! I'm a GOD DAMN FAILURE!!!! I'M A FUCK-UP! I'M A NOBODY!" I screamed. I collapsed, straining my ankle. "I'm a Titanic survivor that's going to freeze to death! Can anybody hear me?! HELLOOOO????!!!!" God it was useless. I started mumbling to myself. "I've lost it. I've lost it. I should have married Manuel. I should have found my mother. I should have stayed in Baltimore and made my way to Johns Hopkins in ten years. I should have a nice little map of life like everyone. I'd be miserable and bored. BUT IT CAN'T BE AS BAD AS THIS!!"  
  
Alice would have said this was a time for pray and hope. "You want a pray, Alice Grant?! Here's one." I looked up at the night sky, yelling at God and everyone else who was with Him and not. "Why me?! What did I do?! I'll throw myself off this cliff and nobody's going to stop me this time! You can't send me to hell, I'm already there, baby! Thank you, Jack. Thank you for leading the way into this new wonderful life! Thank you, Holden for falling in love with me and ditching me. Thank you, Papa for ruining our family business and lives and let's not forget my loving mother!" I wanted Mary so badly. Had she heard my cries and been on Earth with me she would be the first by heaven to reach me. "And Cal! You knew how much trouble they were in! You took advantage of them and you didn't think twice. And you took from me everything! EVERYTHING!!!" Jack's death was still a sore spot it seemed. "Stop testing me you Biblical figment! I'M NOT WORTH IT!!! I'M NOT WORTH IT!! STOP TESTING ME!! I WON'T FIGHT ANYMORE!!! STOP TESTING ME!!" I broke down crying. I couldn't scream anymore; I was too weak. I didn't listen to them, but the words 'no matter how hopeless' were still in my heart. I was still awake, but I could feel myself weakening. I crawled over to the slowly dying fire. I didn't have the will to fix it again.  
  
I had survived so much. Now this. I was a war veteran with no home to be welcomed back to. I really wasn't considered a veteran, but that's what I was in truth. I wouldn't be officially recognized as one for another six decades. If someone had come up to me then and told me on that cold, hard rock that I would live another six decades I would have killed them dead.  
  
Then I thought I heard a voice. The lifeboats were coming for me, but this time I just didn't care. I wished I had died there and be spared all this pain. As it got closer it sounded more and more familiar. I figured it was an illusion and I was just plunging further into derangement. I ignored it.  
  
"HELLO?!" it called. "Anybody up there?!" I could here someone climbing up the rock. I waited there for a few minutes until I could hear boots scraping on the ground.  
  
I went for my first instincts, which strangely enough, were to live. I grabbed the stick I'd been using for balance and tried to defend myself against who ever this man was. I saw him and he hesitated recognizing me. He was in shock at the sight of me. Not just that it was me, but also the sight I had become. "GET AWAY!!!" I screeched. Swinging the stick. I was too weak. I couldn't he wave him off. I was too frightened and mentally and physically strained to recognize him.  
  
For the first seventeen years of my life I always hoped for just one strange coincidence that would be worth a story. There was nothing close to it until Titanic. Now my life was full of them. Most of which I would see were slowly weaving themselves together during the years I wished for them. This was perhaps the luckiest, but certainly not the last.  
  
But for now I thought someone was attacking me and I tried to fight. He was on top of me now.  
  
"Rose!" he cried and fought against my flailing arms. "Rose! Rose, stop it! It's me!! Look at me!!" He held my face and made me look. He was unsure what had happened to me and wasn't sure if I would know anything.  
  
I saw him then. I grew up without anything close to a big brother, but here was the man who I would always consider as mine for my whole life. He came to my rescue now. I reached for him and sobbed in his arms.  
  
"If you took better care of yourself I could sleep better at night." said Sammy.  
  
"I broke my ankle. I couldn't get down and it was s-so cold and-"  
  
"Hey, I'm here now. I can get you down and take you back. Do you understand?" I nodded. "Tell me everything later. Right now you need a doctor, kid."  
  
"I'm only half a step down from one." He knew I was at Maryland, but the last letter I got from him was about a year ago.  
  
"You graduated?" My cape was now under my heavy coat. I pulled out the collar of it to show him the red letters reading "A.E.F." He shook his head. "And then some." He walked around cleaning up and re-packing my things. He stopped after a few minutes. "Is this everything?" he asked. I looked around nodding.  
  
"Happy Birthday slightly belated." I said. His birthday was the same day as mine. He was exactly nine years older than me.  
  
"Happy Birthday slightly belated to you, too." His pack wasn't very full so he stuffed one of my suitcases in it. He remembered our time with the Villistas how I carried my one suitcase. He strapped two belts across me and secured it. He would climb down a few feet then help me where I was perched. He even carried me in some spots. It was an awkward and hard position: I held on to him from the front while he tried to move and grip with his hands, which would have been much easier without my suitcase. There were a few moments there where I was sure we would fall and regretted asking him if I could take my stuff, but we made it down in one piece.  
  
By the time we were back on the trail it was dark. I moved my suitcase to my hand and leaned on Sammy for support. We were only about an hour from the campsite at Devils Canyon Meadow, but with my foot slowing us down it would take much longer. We made it there at eight o'clock and Sam brought me to a main cabin where I was attended to.  
  
I stayed there for a few days with Sammy. Until I was deemed well enough to hike back with his help. We talked for hours catching up. He talked about the Sanchez's wedding and the funny stories that that entailed. He knew about Mary, but was informed late like me. He had been wandering the country with no address for quite some time. Things lightened up a little after we got out our tears about Mary.  
  
"You never wrote." I chided.  
  
"You sound like my mother. 'Samuel, you never write. You are not home often enough.'" He said mocking her slow Navajo accent. "I really should though, because I enjoy living in that hole and putting every effort into making rugs and jewelry and selling them for much less than they're worth."  
  
"Aren't those traditional of your people?"  
  
"Yes and they sell them for very cheap to tourists, it's disgusting. That's why I hated everything about my heritage as a teenager. One day I got so mad I chopped off all my hair. Pop got so mad and gave me a beating I never forgot." Sam's father died when he was nineteen from alcohol poisoning. That's when he left the Reservation for the first time. He really hated him. "Here," he tossed me a turquoise bracelet, "have one. You might actually see it for something."  
  
"Thanks," I said, "and not just for this," I slipped it on, "thanks for taking care of me here and before.actually, half of what that kept me alive up there was what you taught me before."  
  
"It's nothing. Besides, I'm a man of the land. I'm supposed to know this stuff."  
  
"But you're a desert people, we're in the northern woods."  
  
"No matter. Survival and wisdom applies to anything."  
  
"Hey Sam."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"What were you doing here?" I told him everything of how and why I found myself up on the rock, but we never got to him.  
  
"I was going from Eugene to San Francisco and I decided to stop by here and get my head straight. I'm comfortable out in nature. I needed to get a clear head."  
  
"For what? What's in San Francisco?"  
  
"My wife."  
  
"Your wife??? You never told me you had a wife? Did you get married?"  
  
"I was married before Columbus. Let me explain before you say anything. Her name is Enid; she's an Apache. I met her in Arizona when I was 20. We fell in love, got married after a month, and moved to Albuquerque. We were dirt poor and worked some pretty horrible jobs for three years and then one day she got up and left. She left a note and nothing else. Up and left me. It's a sore spot and I don't like talking about. Like Bookie's wife, like Manny and Maria's parents, like what we've got a pretty good idea is the Titanic.Mary leaked some stuff that she learned from George as you can figure." I nodded, smiling weakly. "Anyway, I never heard from her again until now. She wrote to my mother. Apparently, as a result of the last night we were together she had a baby. She didn't even have a hint about it until weeks after she ditched me. I stayed in Albuquerque for another three years then went to Santa Fe where I met this funny little Englishmen who asked me which Carolina he was in. I still don't whether he was kidding or not. Then we went south and found ourselves in Columbus in early 1912 and started working at old lady Marguerita's Saloon with these two Mexican kids that spoke barely any English. You know the story from there. A year ago Enid wrote to my mother. I finally had a semi-permanent address in Eugene, and Ma got to me then."  
  
"Christ."  
  
"So Enid's living in San Francisco with my nine year old kid that I never knew about."  
  
"If anyone's fit to be a father it's you."  
  
"Thanks, but the idea of meeting my nine year son by my estranged wife for the first time is ominous to put it mildly. He's never seen me before, and considering my beautiful relationship with my dad. I spent my entire childhood hiding and protecting my mother and sisters from. He probably hates me."  
  
"You won't know that until you see him. What's his name?"  
  
"Oliver."  
  
"I never knew anyone I could have looked to like a brother.Bookie's more avuncular," I smiled, "Oliver could not have asked for a better father. You gave the best advice to me for two and half years now let give some to you. You are the wisest, most patient, and understanding man I know. You'll be fine, trust me." I sounded like the man I was talking to. I guess even the Sammy Torlinos of the world need some reassurance and comforting words now and then.  
  
"Thanks, kid." he smiled.  
  
I followed Sammy down to San Francisco and he paid my way down to Los Angeles even when I tried to refuse it. Luckily, with what I did there I would earn about a third of my financial losses back.  
  
***  
  
By March I was in L.A. at the door of Gigi's palatial Hollywood home remembering Sammy's advice on the big scenes in Hollywood-he knew I would be there if I was going to be with Gigi, 'No joining more wars, no smoking hookahs, or whoring around. You're a nurse: don't get a disease.' I said 'Thanks Dad'. He gave me an evil look.  
  
"Rosie Dawson! Where have you crazy bitch?" If I just saw her on screen I would've have thought her the sweetest girl imaginable.  
  
"In April I filmed my first feature thanks to Gigi's nepotism. I was another supporting part under her. It was fantastic. My first major film role and it was a joy to do, too. It was called "Her Love", a love story with Gigi at the center. I played the best friend. Next I was her sidekick again in "The Man in Between" this time I was the ditsy best friend to Gigi and her competition over Rudolph Valentino was Dorothy Gish. Needless to say, I was a little star struck.  
  
By early late summer I was on fire. I was filming third feature and no Gigi to cling on this time. And with Lillian Gish and Mary Pickford! It was called "Three Women". It was the best thing I'd been in. Best cast, good story.  
  
Gigi did make me promise one thing. She knew I was silently moping over Holden and that I didn't exactly have 'the fun I'm entitled to'. I promised I'd 'have a one night stand before I die'. I always thought I'd marry young and enter my wedding night a virgin. It seemed I was straying farther from that notion everyday. I never really intended to keep my promise, but about five other cast and crew went to a bar and got a few drinks one night. The other three left and Bob Holmes, the 35 year-old photographer, asked me upstairs. I didn't expect to agree, but I said yes. He was mildly attractive and I was tipsy. He took up to a room and seduced me. By morning he was out of there. It was less 'fun' as Gigi put it, then I had hoped. Thank God it was Saturday morning and an off day. I wouldn't have been able to stay awake. I was used the likes of Jack who was adorable and loving-and passionate, Manny who was as good as he looked, I thought he was lazy before we got together and I found out he just saved it for something else, Holden's intensity and fervor, even Cal, though we never got quite all the way, was generally skilled in the bedroom. The rest of the filming Bob would give me the occasional sly look and probably told everyone. It was a one-time thing in the sense that we would not sleep together again, but he didn't seem to just let it be forgotten. *Note to self: one night stands are not for you.*  
  
After "Three Women" wrapped I went to my first premiere. I was got to wear the latest fashions for the first time in years. When I wasn't working I found Gigi or went down to Santa Monica. I went back to carousels and rides and also back to the pier where I sat and contemplated. I thought about being stranded in Klamath quite a bit. I was beginning to feel overwhelmingly sorry about cursing God and all my loved ones, but sleep deprivation, starvation, a hindering injury, isolation, being robbed and left destitute on top of other things puts a strain on one. Still, life was good. I looked great in my publicity portraits and when I came to party's I heard the occasional 'look it's Rosie Dawson' or something like that.  
  
I had success in a career I liked and weekends in Santa Monica with Gigi. I also took a few flying lessons and worked on *actually* learning how to fly a plane. I swore one day I'd own my own. Soon I had my license, I was so happy. Now I was a real pilot. I flew as often as I could. Unfortunately, I passed on this lust for flying on to my son years later. He came of age at key time for adventurous pilots and I wasn't too happy with his decision.  
  
But by early fall things started wear. Gigi invited me along with her on a trip to Hong Kong. China! This was truly a once in a lifetime opportunity. I agreed immediately. I had gotten over my general fear of sailing though I was still uncomfortable sometimes. The first few days I spent wanting to go to every market and explore every part of the city. Gigi gave me a little leeway, but mostly dragged me to clubs where people spoke English. I still enjoyed it though. The first week was fantastic. The second started on a sour note and went down hill from there.  
  
I had to drag Gigi home drunk from club. She was having trouble with a man that seemed to be on her tail that she found rather unappealing. I had to push him away and get the manager in and drag her home-she could be like such a small child sometimes. She was so out of control by the time I got her back to her room I had to lock the door (she was too drunk to undo it). I filled up the bathtub with cold water and dragged her to the bathroom. I tried to throw her in, but she was a strong drunk. It took some struggling, but I finally got her in.  
  
"I coulda handled it mythelf!" she shouted. "I didn't need to comma home ya know! You always ruin everythings, Rose. Let me ups! Lemme out!" I dunked back in.  
  
"Stay down there and shut up!" I pointed.  
  
After about ten minutes I let her out, dressed her in dry clothes, and put her to bed. I sat with talking to her and putting her hair up. She lay in bed with the covers pulled up to her chin. She looked like a sweet little girl.  
  
"You're a real pisser, you know that?"  
  
"You didn't have to embarrass me like that."  
  
"You want to act like a child I'll treat you like one."  
  
"Gee thanks Mom, I really appreciate it. And I'm thinking giving up alcohol seeing as it'll be illegal back home in January. I'm gonna start obeying the law and I'm gonna smoke marijuana more often."  
  
"Since when is marijuana illegal? I suppose it would be a better choice for you. High people are much more pleasant than drunks. I'd like to see on something and nice at the same time."  
  
"Maybe not marijuana.what's the new one floating around?"  
  
"Cocaine?"  
  
"Yeah, that's the one."  
  
"I don't think that's the best idea, Gig. That one looks too dangerous." She looked at me with eyebrows cocked.  
  
"I still think it's a bad idea."  
  
"Yes, Mommy, whatever you say."  
  
While in Los Angeles I decided to date like a normal human being. I went out to dinner with this one guy who turned out to be a terrible jerk and that didn't go anywhere. Then I met a nineteen year-old student named Dale Hall. He was a nice kid. Maybe a little young I thought at first, but I said yes when he asked me out to dinner. After I got back from Hong Kong I took a month off. Gigi was usually busy with filming or trying out cocaine or whatever it was she did. I went to Santa Monica when he didn't have classes. I never intended for us to come of anything, but one day we went down for a midnight walk on the beach and wound up making love. It was your typical perfect romantic night. The ocean, the moonlight, the cute student boyfriend.  
  
By fall I started noticing the mindless drivel at parties, which seemed all too familiar. "Her Love" came out by then I was starting to become more noticed. By Christmas I decided it was time get out even though I actually landed a starring role. I was playing the title role in "Blythe", also the name of my two year-old second cousin that I would never know. I played the ornamental heroine of a love story. It was reminiscent of "Romeo and Juliet" only I was the only one to die at the end-killed by my controlling stepmother. My lover dies old and alone.  
  
After that wrapped I left, but first I had to confront Gigi and Dale.  
  
"If you keep on the tails of "Blythe" you could so big," Gigi said, "you've got the talent and the looks. You'll be America's beautiful heroine. I know it. It's just you."  
  
"There's something I've had to do for a while and now I think I should leave. Maybe I'll come back, but I have to leave."  
  
"Honey, I understand completely. If you've got something that you have to do you can't sit on your ass. But promise me this: that you'll always be my friend, I mean consider me as your friend. I don't have too many real ones. You're the first not to use for my fame and money and you helped with my drinking. Even if we never see each other again just promise you'll always think of me as a friend." I held her face in my hands.  
  
"What else could I think of you as?" She smiled and embraced.  
  
"Good luck, my Rosie D." I was hers in a way. As far as Hollywood went she made me.  
  
***  
  
Dale wasn't so easy. He wanted to marry me. He begged me to stay.  
  
"Come on, Rose. It'll be wonderful. I can see it now. We'll into a nice house and I'll be in my dad's business when I graduate and you can still go on with your career. And kids! We'll have lots of kids. Can't you see it? I'll come home and you'll be with the children and making the place spick and span."  
  
"I already clean up after myself and that's quite enough!" I pleaded. "I don't need other people to do it for."  
  
"What did I do?"  
  
"Nothing, I have to go and I can't take you with me."  
  
"Who's in New York. People I have things to work out with, please." He grabbed my arm.  
  
"Who is he?"  
  
"There is no 'he' just me and my issues." *Holden James Hockley.*  
  
After much more argument I left him in near tears. It sounded a bit like Manny's pleading, only Manny knew me better and was always my friend; I'd never see Dale again. I felt like such disgusting succubus. I had left another broken heart of a decent man in my path.  
  
I left L.A. in February even though I was to do another film scheduled to shoot in the summer. I'd be ready to go back by then. Little did I know I was about set the course for the rest of my life-and this mission in Manhattan was going to be much harder than I thought. I'd get in over my head, be reunited with friends and enemies, go through such pain, joy, utter self-hatred, and absolute love and happiness. It was going to be a wild one.  
  
But in order to understand a pivotal point in the next chapter of my life we must stop someplace else before Manhattan 1920 and venture into the lives of one very unique family: The Dawsons. 


	19. Chippewa Falls

Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin April 14, 1907  
  
All the little children gathered on the green around the may pole outside the Chippewa Falls Lower School. It was three weeks until the annual May Day celebration and rehearsals begin today. Miss Law, the cold and frightening teacher of the younger children was doing roll call.  
  
"Stephen?"  
  
"Here."  
  
"Julia?"  
  
"Here."  
  
"Susan?"  
  
"John?"  
  
"Here."  
  
"Elizabeth?"  
  
"Here."  
  
"Emily? .Emily? Emily Dawson? Does anybody know where she's run off to now?"  
  
By this time Emily was half way to the Upper School where classes had just let out and they didn't have to do the stupid may pole dance. They had been fitted for their costumes today, too. Emily was wearing a pastel pink dress and a garland of flowers on her head, which she absolutely detested. She tore off the garland, and a minute later decided, well screw the dress, too. She waited in front of the school while the older children filed out of the building. Some stopped to laugh at the little girl in her underwear. One of them came up to her.  
  
"Now something's different about you, but I can't quite place it." said Tobey Jackson, a medium-sized boy with dark blond hair, and notorious goofball. He looked unsurprised, but still stared at her like she had eight heads.  
  
"I'm not wearin' no vomit pink dress with a bee hotel on my head anymore!"  
  
"Calm down, Little D.you are aware you're walkin' around in broad daylight in your unmentionables?"  
  
"Like anyone cares; I'm not even eight yet.but I will be eight in-"  
  
"Three months."  
  
"Exactly three months!"  
  
Laughter immediately burst out from across the lawn. Three others, all around fourteen like Tobey, approached Tobey and Emily. Judy Parker: a sweet faced, maternal girl with golden brown hair and dark eyes, Milo Shaw: a short and stout boy, sometimes called "The Little Tea Pot" by Tobey. He had bushy, uneven black hair and wore thick glasses. The one laughing the loudest was the one who taught Emily most of her tricks, her elder cousin: Jack Dawson. I'm going on a hunch that he needs no introduction.  
  
"I'm not explainin' this to the folks." Jack laughed. 'The Folks' was the common term between Jack and Emily for all four of their parents. All six living Dawsons lived in the same house on the family farm.  
  
"I'm not doing the stupid may pole again!" She crossed her arms angrily.  
  
"What's the big deal? It's just a little dance.even if letting go of the ribbon means death." Milo said, not trying to scare the girl, but recalling his own experiences.  
  
"You have to wear ridiculous clothes, especially if you're a girl and you have to practice with Miss Law every week after school." Judy pointed out. The boys shuddered at the reminder of Miss Law. Now they had Miss Taylor who was young, beautiful, and fun. All the boys in the Upper School had a crush on her, including our three-actually Miss Taylor was more of a diversion. In fact, the boys, (Milo, Jack, and Tobey, that is) truly pined for Judy. Judy being more or less a tomboy thought no boy had ever fancied her.  
  
The five of them walked home towards the outskirts of town. They all lived on the same road. The Shaws had an apple orchard; The Dawson raised cows, chickens, and corn, Judy's father was Dr. Parker who was apprenticed to Dr. Burke before he retired, and Mr. Jackson was the local blacksmith.  
  
Along the way Emily's may pole rebellion had sparked an idea in Jack's head. After all, May Day in their town was always dreadfully boring. It was time to spice it up a bit. By the time they reached the old tree house in back of Shaw's Orchard they had all agreed and began working on a plan. As payback for the suffering of May Days past the town misfits had the most brilliant plan of revenge: toppling the May Pole. It sounds silly, and perhaps it was, but they planned to do it in style. It would mean Emily would have to bare a little heat and show up to rehearsals, but she was overjoyed to finally be involved.  
  
As tolerant as the teenagers were, the six-year age difference did become a bit of weight for the big kids and made certain conversation topics difficult to have in front of her. Still Emily was a little different than children her age.she was little different than most people. She knew a few things most fourteen year olds didn't not that she didn't remain an innocent to most things. This is best described in an episode that occurred some time before.  
  
***  
  
One and a half years earlier  
  
The bullies at school were picking on Emily quite a bit. Betty Lou Barnes was the meanest girl in first grade, Emily, feisty as she was, also happened to be the smallest. She had threatened to beat Emily up on several occasions and hit her once. She didn't dare tell her parents. It would be too embarrassing to have Maggie 'have a word' with Betty Lou's mother. Margaret Walker Dawson was every bit the fireball her daughter was.  
  
Jack looked on Emily as a little brother and taught as if she were one. He decided to teach her self-defense. After their chores were finished one night Jack decided to begin her training. They were upstairs in Jack's room. Emily stood on a stool.  
  
"Alright, kid, you gotta mean it when you do it. Now it's just like I showed you. What's this one called?" Jack held his hands up to receive his cousin's fists. He felt like a bit of a hypocrite; he'd only been in one fight before-and that was when Willy Dawes said was following Judy around trying to pull up her skirt. Of course then it took the help of Milo and Tobey. Milo was actually more of handicap then a help, but Jack wouldn't let Tobey say anything. Even though they'd tell her she wasn't one of "those girls" and was just one of the guys they protected her fiercely, but never realized until later in their lives that she was the one almost always looking out for them.  
  
"A right hook!" Emily held up her fist in position.  
  
"No, not like that." Jack sighed. Emily narrowed her glare. It was the umpteenth time she'd heard that today. It took her forever the get her fists the right way. And he would never let her punch until he was satisfied. Frustrated, Emily threw a swing at him before he told her to.  
  
She hit him directly in the nose. His head went back and he immediately covered his face. He fell about the room, his nose bleeding all over his face and his shirt. And out of his mouth came the words that would forever dominate Emily's vocabulary.  
  
Later at dinner  
  
"So you stepped on a rake?" Peter asked his son. All the adults suspected something was up.  
  
"Yeah." Jack mumbled. Earlier he swore Emily to silence.  
  
"I'm sure the swelling will go down in a few days." Hannah took another sip of her milk.  
  
"Don't worry, Jackie, the first time I tried to shave I left a gash on my face that stayed for a month. This doesn't look nearly as bad." Joe reassured him. Jack cared less about how he looked compared to not being able to breathe through his nose. *That insane little head case demon child.* "So Emily what did you do today?" asked Maggie.  
  
"Broke Jack's fuckin' nose." answered the six year-old. In one swift motion every adult head snapped in Jack's direction. Jack immediately paled. *Oh shit.* ".but it was an accident honest."  
  
"It hurt so bad! It just came out!" He got up from his chair nearly falling over.  
  
"John Matthew Dawson I would like to know where *you* learned that word!" Hannah rose from her chair as well. ".John, I'm waiting."  
  
"Me." he paused and sighed, "Tobey, Milo, and I used to sneak around the mills sometimes and they talk-talked like.you know there."  
  
"The mills?! Jack!" his mother was in a fury.  
  
"How long have you been going down there?" demanded Peter.  
  
"You mean since when?"  
  
"Oh my God!" shouted all four grown-ups simultaneously.  
  
"Can I go to?" asked Emily.  
  
"No you may not." said Maggie and Joe with growing anger.  
  
"Why in the hell not?"  
  
"Oh my God what else do you two know between the both of you?" Maggie stared at the children.  
  
"I don't know!" Jack lied.  
  
"John Matthew, I am very disappointed in your language and the fact that you exercise no discretion in using it-and passing it on to your six year- old cousin. You are twelve; you should not even hear such words yourself. But I am livid that you went up to those God awful places. They're extremely dangerous! You're never going there again. Do you understand me? Don't even answer; just go upstairs. Take your dinner with you if you like, but do not find yourself in any room I'm in for the rest of this evening." Hannah pointed towards the stairs. Jack followed her orders, wanting to die. Not only was he in trouble with all four adults, but now they would tell the Jacksons and the Shaws about the mills so Milo and Tobey would be mad. Then Judy would be angry at all of them for ditching her.  
  
A few weeks later all was forgiven and the incident was mostly forgotten.mostly. Emily was always on the look out for new forbidden words. Her language got worse from there, which was a particularly shocking thing in the early twentieth century.  
  
***  
  
"Viva la Wisconsin!" they all threw their hands in the air while shouting the group catch phrase. They planned to call most of the school children together and meet in the old tree house the next night.  
  
"This the best idea ever!" Milo cracked. The children walked from the old tree house, crossing through Old Man Ritter's house to get to the pond. They all stopped in their tracks.  
  
"Oh my God. It smells so bad here. Did he die finally?" Judy asked, covering her nose.  
  
"Who gets his stuff then?" Emily asked, wondering if he would have anything she wanted.  
  
"Maybe we should go and check." said Jack.  
  
"Are you crazy, Dawson? If he ain't dead you'll be if you go in there. You know what they say? They say he lost his foot and his mind at Antietam! C'mon, chief, let's just leave 'em. " Tobey pleaded. Old Man Ritter was the town crazy. He hated people in general, but had a particular distaste for kids and people that trespassed on his property. And he *really* hated kids that trespassed on his property.  
  
"Who's there?!" demanded a voice from within the rickety old cabin. All five snapped their heads and ran.  
  
"SHIT!!!!!!" they screamed. They heard shots behind them and ran as fast as their legs would take. Jack carried Emily who was too small to keep up. They were convinced he was shooting directly at them although he always just fired straight up in the air-except once. It was well known fact he shot Billy Hansen in the behind. He was fine, but he couldn't sit down for about three weeks.  
  
Needless to say the kids decided to skip the pond that day and went straight home. They departed and went to their separate homes. Jack opened the door the Dawson home with little pink dress and garland in hand. He couldn't get her to put her clothes back on.  
  
"We're home!" Jack shouted as he closed the door.  
  
"Hi-" Joe had just come in from outside. "Sweetheart, why are you in your underwear?"  
  
"I'm not wearin' that stupid damn outfit this year!"  
  
"Whoa there. Calm down, we'll talk about this at dinner." Emily skipped up to her room. "But next time keep the dress on! Emily, do you hear me?"  
  
"I swear I couldn't even get her to put the dress back on." Jack defended.  
  
"At least she's eight and not eighteen." Joe sighed. Jack laughed. "What?"  
  
"No, you'll get mad."  
  
"No, I won't, I promise."  
  
"Fine, it's actually kind of funny in a sick way, Tobey said, about Em's runnin' around with no clothes and her in general.that she'll either be dead or pregnant by the time she's fifteen." Joe almost laughed.  
  
"That's not funny."  
  
***  
  
The next night the meeting was held outside the old tree house. Judy, Jack, Tobey, and Milo took care of the Upper School and Emily got a lot the younger children from the Lower School to come. Our gang set up early and waited for everyone else.  
  
"Hello over there!" called voices from several yards away. Two seventh graders: Chester Morgan and Andrew Munro.  
  
"What's the password?" Tobey walked up to them.  
  
"Viva la Wisconsin." they answered. Anyone who agreed to plan was told the password to the meeting.  
  
Twenty minutes later they felt they had a good-sized crowd, by now the little ones we're getting antsy.  
  
"Excuse me," a fifth grader raised his hand, "we were to understand there would be punch and pie?" Judy turned to her boys.  
  
"More people will come if they think there'll be punch and pie." said Jack.  
  
"Now that I think about it," said Milo, "I'm allergic to a lot of types of pies."  
  
"You're allergic to everything." said Tobey.  
  
"Shut up, Tobey!"  
  
"Shut up, all of you!" yelled Judy. She turned to the thirty or so extras in front of them. "Sorry about the misunderstanding. There is no punch and pie." Five kids got up and left. After that Jack went on to explain the intricate plan for sabotaging May Day.  
  
"As children we are a second class."  
  
***  
  
One day until May Day. Emily had still been forced to participate in the May Pole as punishment for walking around in public in her underwear. Also, they needed her there for 'the big plan'. Still, she decided to skip the last practice. She stared on at the other children and Miss Law in the distance as she stood atop the hill.  
  
"Drones." She shook her head in disgust.  
  
"You really scare sometimes, you know that?" Jack was behind her. It was a bit creepy hearing a child of her age make a comment like that. "And tomorrow's the day. You need to be there with the other kids."  
  
"They know what to do, besides I can't say anything while Frankenteacher's around."  
  
"You'll get in trouble."  
  
"You were the one who's idea this whole thing is! We're all gonna get in trouble, Jack!"  
  
"Alright, alright calm down, squirt, let's go then." When they got home Maggie and Hannah were in the kitchen.  
  
"I am telling you for the last time he is probably just walking home." Hannah said to Maggie. The two sisters were looking out the window at the man who always walked by in the late afternoon carrying a wooden board. Maggie had appropriately dubbed him 'Board Man'.  
  
"He's a crazy or a weirdo or a stalker or something." Maggie was over the sink and halfway out the window. "One day I'm gonna follow him and find out."  
  
"Honestly, Maggs, you're insane."  
  
"He's creepy and he needs to be exposed-Emily Susannah, did you skip the may pole rehearsal again?" Maggie whipped around after catching her daughter through the corner of her eye.  
  
"I kept the dress on." Emily said, looking at the ground.  
  
"Emily, go wash up. You better be there tomorrow and you better know what you're doing for that dance." She pointed at her with a wooden spoon.  
  
"Don't worry, Mommy, I know what to do."  
  
***  
  
Zero hour. Weeks of planning were coming to fruition. Jack survived the night before-he been rigging pole with Tobey, Judy, Milo, and Roy Belle. He also remembered to add the extra ribbon. He hoped no one noticed or cared there was a bright red ribbon amongst the pink, white, and blue pastels. P It was a beautiful, sunny May 1st in Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin. It looked like it was going to be another year of bright colors and good wholesome, fun. Jack thought the year before could have been more fun. It rained halfway through, people scattered, the kids were muddy and wet; it was great. But then they had to cancel the rest of it. How's life going to be of you cancel everything for a little rain?  
  
Jack eyed the may pole as he was playing a game at one of the booths. Judy and Tobey had been wandering around elsewhere. Now that they had little more freedom to wander around and not do stupid dances and sing for the adults. They still had to dress up in their Sunday best though. Jack never understood. Dress up for a faire?  
  
"We're gonna get in so much trouble, so much trouble. Oh my God, oh my God." Milo started panicking. Jack gave the guy at the booth a penny for playing and led Milo away.  
  
"Pipe down, Milo. When you're grown-up you'll be thankful you did this. Some people go their whole lives and never do anything. You're one of the main men on the biggest May Day prank in history.Milo, breathe.slowly, in and out, one, two.feel better?"  
  
"Kind of."  
  
The little dancers gathered around the may pole each holding their own little ribbons. Emily rushed to grab the red one. The dance began. The twenty or so small children weaved around each other. Many grown-up hearts broke to see the sight of their precious little ones dancing so prettily. Then Emily Dawson backed away and gave the signal.  
  
"GIRAFFE!!!" she shouted. The other children scattered, Emily pulled on the ribbon as hard as she could, and darted out of the way as the pole came toppling down. She dived into grass, clear from the resounding 'BOOM!' An array of flapped up and floated down.  
  
Not a moment later fireworks shot up from the booths that was supposed to be manned by Roy Belle, Tobey Jackson, and Judy Parker. Main Street became chaos for about ten minutes. People scattered. Then dread set in for most of the children: a few little ones cried, some ran away, and some, you can guess a few of them, laughed.  
  
When they realized the anger coming over the population the five masterminds made a mad dash from the center of town. They ran screaming with their hands out in front of them as if there was no tomorrow.  
  
"I WANT TO DIE!!!" Milo screamed as Jack and Judy dragged him behind the town entrance sign where Tobey and Emily were already hiding under the tall grass.  
  
"Do you think all the police in Chippewa County'll be lookin' for us?" asked Emily. She turned to the other three who had just dived under the sign with them. "So what does it mean when you're the bitch of the group?" Tobey shot her an evil look. "'Cause that's what Tobey said Milo was before." Milo started crying.  
  
"I hate you, Tobey!" he sobbed.  
  
"Great job, Tob." Judy snapped, still barely breathe from all the running.  
  
"Milo, you cry at everything and you always whine and ruin stuff. We're all getting in trouble, half of the kids in town are. And this kind of crap always passes, it's not like we killed anyone. You always have to be this annoying, crying chicken.at heart, you'll always be the fat kid."  
  
"TOBEY! What in the hell is the matter with you?!" Judy yelled. Emily started to feel really guilty she'd asked, but being eight she didn't know any better to realize that it would start this or hurt anybody.  
  
"And you'll always be a complete ass that'll never amount to anything!" Milo growled. The Jacksons were famous in town for being underachievers.  
  
"Everybody stop it! We're all just tense from the prank and everything. We can't act like this. Especially, towards each other." Milo and Tobey fought more than any of them, but this was nastier then usual. "I know this is the biggest thing we've pulled, but get it together guys!" The two boys were still red-faced and not speaking to other, but they stopped fighting. Jack had a strange power about him. It was hard not to trust him or listen to him.  
  
***  
  
It must've have been a record for simultaneous groundings and extras chores in a small town. There wasn't the usual Cinco de Mayo celebration in the Dawson house that year. They never really had any great love for Mexican Independence, but it was Jack's birthday. But after dinner they did have a small celebration with cake and presents.  
  
"Here ya go, son." Peter handed Jack something. Jack took it and unwrapped it. It was a leather portfolio. Jack ran his fingers over it. It smelled beautiful; it felt so smooth. "You can keep your drawings it. I figure your mother gave you the talent," he smiled at his wife, "I'll make sure you keep it safe."  
  
"Thanks, Dad!" It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever owned, at least to his mind-and it always would be. 


	20. Chippewa Falls

It was the first day of June and the last day of school in Chippewa Falls. The sky was covered with gray clouds and the rain came down like pellets. As Jack and Emily ran they're feet smacked the wet grass.  
  
"Hurry up! We're gonna be late!" Jack called as he sprung himself over the wooden fence with one hand in one swift movement.  
  
"You slow down, damn it, my legs are little than yours!" Emily shouted back, and then slipped through the fence. By now they were closing in on the schoolyard and soaked through to the bone with water and mud.  
  
By the time both Dawsons were in their respective schools they wetter and muddier than all the other children combined. (They purposely took the muddy routes on rainy days.)  
  
"Hey, all." Jack greeted grades 6 through 10 with little wave and ran his fingers through his wet hair.  
  
"Weren't you blonde the last time I saw you?" asked Miss Taylor, his beautiful teacher. This was the last time he'd be in class with her. High school only went up to grade 10 in those days and most farm kids quit after eighth. Jack's parents had already saved for him to attend art school in Eau Claire.  
  
"I dyed it just for you, Miss Taylor." he grinned. The class laughed and clapped.  
  
"Have a seat, Mr. Dawson." she grinned back.  
  
"They love him." Tobey whined to Judy and Milo. "I say something like that people look at me like I'm some sort of derelict."  
  
"I know. I hate charming people, too." Judy stuck out her tongue. Jack took a seat next to his friends.  
  
"She fancies me." he said with British accent and put his hands behind his head. He grinned at Tobey and Milo who rolled their eyes. All the girls thought he was the cutest thing on two legs, Jack, being the most naïve of the foursome, never noticed this-but his friends did. Especially Judy.  
  
Miss Taylor began talking to the class about what a wonderful year it had been and how she'd miss them all over the summer. Then they had crackers and milk while writing thank you letters to the teacher.  
  
After school let out Jack went down to pick up Emily.  
  
"How was the last day?" he crouched down to her level.  
  
"I hate Miss Law."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"Nothing. Just saying I hate her damn guts and I'm so glad I don't have to see her for the whole summer!" She got up and danced around. It was still raining out so she opened her mouth for a drink. "Ya know I almost told her to stuff it in my letter, but I'm gonna wait till the last day of fifth grade when I won't have her anymore.if I can wait that long." Jack laughed and slapped her on the back.  
  
"C'mon, Em, let's go play rainball with Judy, Milo, and Tobey."  
  
"Rainball?! Woo-hoo!!" 'Rainball' was baseball only it was played in the rain. Emily was especially excited. They didn't always let her join in with the big kids. But Jack thought it was the last day of school and a cause for everyone to celebrate. And besides, you couldn't play rainball everyday.  
  
The five children met up at the field and played a few games of rainball. Seas of mud would shoot through the air as they cut through ground sliding into bases. They played for hours until Dr. Parker found them.  
  
"You crazy guys are late for your suppers!" he called to them while they were having a mud fight. The game had diminished by then.  
  
"Hi, Daddy!" Judy got up to give her father a hug, but stopped short when she remembered how dirty she was.  
  
"It's alright." Her father smiled and opened his arms as she fell into them.  
  
"Hey, Dr. Parker!" shouted the others.  
  
"Judith Abigail, your mother will have a fit.as well as a few other mothers might, too, this evening."  
  
"Actually, our parents just kinda hang their heads and sigh now." Jack shrugged. Dr. Parker chuckled.  
  
"Come on, you silly people." He motioned for them to follow them and the five soaked and muddy children skipped on behind him.  
  
Dr. Parker walked the kids back to their street and they separated off towards their respective homes. As Emily and Jack stepped on to the porch they could hear Mrs. Shaw's distinctive shriek in the distance.  
  
"MILO!!!" Ah, Milo had tracked mud through the house, probably trying to sneak in unnoticed. Peter also heard Mrs. Shaw and knew his son and niece would be arriving soon to track mud through his house, probably from rainball. He was ready for them.  
  
Jack hand reached for the knob and pulled opened the big red door. Before they saw the inside of their house towels were thrown over their heads.  
  
"Beat ya." Peter smiled, though the children didn't see it.  
  
"It's dark." Emily commented. Jack pulled the towel off his head, then off of his cousins.  
  
"Dry off and clean up. Don't go trackin' mud through the house."  
  
Joe ran onto the porch and picked up Emily, rubbing the towel all over her. He turned upside down and she loudly giggled her little girl giggle.  
  
"Don't think your safe." He messed up Jack's hair. Jack laughed and pushed his uncle's hand away.  
  
"What's going on out here?" Maggie and Hannah were standing in the doorway.  
  
"The kids are muddy," Peter said, "rainball?" he asked them.  
  
"Rainball." confirmed Jack and Emily.  
  
"One day, when I'm big, you won't be able to do that anymore." Emily told her father as he put her down.  
  
"What? This?" he picked up his skinny wife and turned upside. She yelped as he ran off the dry porch and into the pouring rain. He dumped her in the mud and the rest of the family ran out with them, screaming and laughing.  
  
Hannah was the last one off the porch, as her foot left the last white step the sun broke through the clouds. She slid to her knees to join her family.  
  
It's funny, those strange images that stuck in one's head. After a time Hannah and Peter were up dancing in the sun shower. Jack remembered sitting near the others, Joe and Maggie sat with Emily on their laps as she tried to mess their hair.  
  
Jack saw only his parents. They were about 15 feet away. They were dancing, there was no music, but it was as if only they could hear in their little world. Jack was usually embarrassed when his parents started to 'get all romantic', but there was something about this little scene. It was beautiful; it felt like home.  
  
He promised himself, that one day, he'd draw that.  
  
***  
  
The summer truly began that following week when Roy Belle popped into the Dawson barn. Peter and Joe were in the cornfields, Hannah was cleaning the house and Maggie was feeding the chickens. Jack and Emily were milking the cows.  
  
"Hey Mrs. D!" Roy waved to Maggie grinning widely.  
  
"Hey there, Roy."  
  
"How are you today?"  
  
"I'm fine. How about you, Belle?"  
  
"Great, Mrs. D. Is Jack home?"  
  
"Yeah, they're in the stable."  
  
"Thanks Mrs. D!" Roy ran inside. Roy was never one of Jack's best friends, but they got along well. He 'always liked that kid'.  
  
Roy looked around, seeing nothing but cows.  
  
"Anyone in here?"  
  
"Just us cows." Jack answered.  
  
"Alright, you cows, what do you say to being apart of the biggest ball game in the history of Chippewa Falls?"  
  
"Moo!" Jack shouted enthusiastically.  
  
"Alright, and what about you Emily?" Roy asked. Emily's eyes shone. This was really her year! After May Day she had earned the respect of most of the older kids. Of course, at this point she didn't know they wanted her to help out-not play.  
  
"Moo, too."  
  
"Jeremy Black's rich cousin Fox from Milwaukee is coming to stay in Chippewa Falls. They say he's the best baseball player in the state of Wisconsin. And we're gonna prove him wrong. We challenged him and a bunch other kids to a game."  
  
"Who's on our team then?" Jack asked.  
  
"Umm.us, Milo Shaw, Tobey Jackson, Jim Keller, Lou Banks, Brent Smith, and if we're really desperate for people, Judy Parker."  
  
"Take Judy, she's a good pitcher."  
  
"If you say so, Dawson." Roy agreed it was a good idea, but was squeamish about telling Lou, Jim, and Brent that they let a girl on the team. "I'll see ya around. If I don't make these deliveries," he held up a basket; his parents ran the general store, "my ma's gonna whip my hide. Oh ya, four o'clock Sunday afternoon when's we meet for practice and to get everything organized."  
  
"Alright then. See ya."  
  
"Bye, Roy!" Emily waved. She turned to Jack. "If they're letting me play, why are they so weird about letting Judy?"  
  
"Em, you can't play. They probably just need someone to help with equipment and be a fan."  
  
"What do you mean I can't play?!"  
  
"You're eight years old. They'll kill you!"  
  
"You lousy bastards! That's not fair!"  
  
"Hey, what did I tell you about talking like that!"  
  
"Where do you think I learned it from!"  
  
"Come to practice on Sunday and we'll talk with everyone else alright? .Alright?"  
  
"I think you're full of shit!"  
  
"Emily!" Emily crawled back behind Bessie the cow and crossed her arms. Jack went back to work milking. He looked up after a minute. "Aintcha gonna do any of your work? Or are ya just gonna sit there and sulk? .Emily?"  
  
"Why don't you tell my mother on me then?"  
  
Jack let out an "Ugh" and went back to work. Stupid brat.  
  
Sunday, 4:00 PM  
  
"What the hell kind of stupid name is Fox?" asked Brent.  
  
"The kind of name Jem Black's aunt and uncle like?" Milo suggested. Everyone else shrugged.  
  
"Listen, Emily," said Jim, "we thought of a great job for you." He looked at Jack who had told him about Emily fussing.  
  
"If it's not centerfield she doesn't wanna hear it." Jack frowned. Emily glared at him.  
  
"Em," she turned back to Jimmy, "how would you like to be coach?  
  
COACH?! Coach the baseball team? Emily's eyes lit up. As far as Jim and Roy worked out she knew a lot about the game and if she gave any stupid child advice or even through a tantrum there wouldn't be much she could do about it if people used their judgment instead of hers.  
  
"Yes! I'll be coach! I know everything there is to know. I'll be the best coach ever! You're a genius, Jimmy." Emily squeaked. She stuck her tongue out at Jack. Jack rolled his eyes.  
  
"Alright, now to figure everything else out, Judy, you pitch?" Lou asked uncertainly.  
  
"Of course." Judy answered as if all girls played ball.  
  
"Then we've got Judy pitching, I'm catching, Jim, you're the only left- hander so you're first base again, Roy, you're second, Tob, you're third, Brent, shortstop, Jack, centerfield, and Milo, you're our all-purpose out- fielder." Lou had worked everything out days earlier.  
  
"I have to be left and right field? That's impossible. Why can't you get somebody else to play one?!"  
  
"'Cause Emily's coaching." said Lou.  
  
"'Cause I'm coaching." said Emily.  
  
Milo groaned, fearing the inevitable. This was going to mean more abuse for Milo Shaw.  
  
They practiced three days a week for a month until it was game time. Milo had a very difficult time playing the entire outfield.  
  
Later that day, Judy's backyard  
  
"You know, I'm not feeling the passion of the poor French." Jack sighed, looking to Judy and Milo.  
  
"That's because you get to be the executioner." Milo whined.  
  
"Would you rather be Louie and Marie Antoinette?" Tobey tried to pull his head up, which was hanging the side of the big gray rock in the field. Emily was next to him, in the same position.  
  
"This is what I get for getting to play with you guys. Marie Fucking Antoinette." Emily stared and the grass, not moving her head.  
  
"Watch your language!" snapped the four big kids in unison, as if on cue. Jack bit his lip, it was his fault she talked like that, but that was the one word they were absolutely on pain of death not allowed to say again.  
  
As usual the game of French Revolution was dispended before they could "behead" anybody.  
  
"Milo, next time you can Napoleon, he's just your shape." Tobey teased.  
  
Milo punched him in the arm.  
  
"Ow! He hit me." He pointed, waiting for Judy to do something about it. Judy hit Tobey in the other arm. He looked to Jack. "Have you no soul, Dawson?" he smiled knowingly; "help me here."  
  
"You know as well as any how I sold it."  
  
"Jack Dawson, did you sell your soul to the devil?" Judy looked him sternly in the eyes.  
  
"No, I sold it to Tobey for a ten cents."  
  
"Oh no, it's worse." She said putting her hand to her forehead  
  
Tobey triumphantly pulled out a piece of paper with the words: "Jack's soul" written on it in Jack's handwriting.  
  
"Do you idiots think that actually works?" Milo asked unheard.  
  
"A dime for your soul, Jack, you'll always be poor." Judy laughed.  
  
"It bought me lunch down at Missy's Café on Main Street."  
  
"You sold your soul for lunch. And you call yourself an artist-not to mention you put it at Tob's disposal." Judy crossed her arms. "Men are solely ruled by their darn appetites."  
  
"Amen to that." The three boys slapped hands. Emily looked worried about Judy's last comment.  
  
"Judy, uh, does that make me a boy?"  
  
***  
  
Time rolled around and the day of the big game finally came. They were ready.  
  
The shabby band of unlikely kids looked at the opposing team: Jem Black and his ever-so-famous cousin Fox Whitmore, Jake Phelps-better known as Casanova Phelps, because the rumor was he had.you know.done.it, Duncan Rawlins, Peewee Simms, Martin Martin, Righty Riggs who was 18 and still in the 9th grade, Mark Twain Gunderson, Fred Dawsen, with an "e", and Job Prince.  
  
"We must be the normal name team." Jim smiled.  
  
"Where also 'the going to get pummeled into the ground' team." Milo sighed.  
  
"You're a pessimist, Mi." Tobey said. "Actually, we're not the normal name team. Because of Tobey we all have stupid nicknames. They've got Job, Fox, and Peewee and what not. We've got The Little Tea Pot and Johnny Shrivel Nuts."  
  
Tobey smiled at his own 'genius'. "Yeah, I'm funny." he chuckled to himself.  
  
"Hey ladies!" Jem called. His cousin leered at the pathetic bunch, but said nothing. "Let's get this ass-whoopin' started, shall we?"  
  
Emily tugged at Jack's shirt. "He said ass." She whispered to him.  
  
"I'm aware."  
  
"I'm not supposed to say ass. How come he gets to say it?"  
  
"You say it anyway and Jem's a fool. Now will you shut up, coach?" Jack walked over with the rest of the big kids to discuss the impending ballgame.  
  
Damn right I'm coach.  
  
After every position was verified and the coin was tossed it was time to play ball.  
  
Save for Milo, whose thoughts dwelled on his imminent death for playing the entire outfield against the toughest kids in town with the best ball player in the state, everyone on the field was absolutely determined. Jem, Fox, and company knew they would win. The other team, composed of our little players that could, had their sights on victory as well, but if they had to go down they would not go down easy. 


	21. Chippewa Falls

"Their pitcher's a girl and their 'coach' is in diapers!" laughed Fox as he picked up his bat.  
  
"It speaks," young Judy Parker thought aloud as she stood on the mound, ".and it's a moron."  
  
She concentrated hard and threw the first pitch of the game, inhaling the summer air as she released the ball from her hand.  
  
Fox took a mighty swing.and missed. Pale-faced, he gazed at the girl in awe. The girl smiled and opened her mitt so Lou could toss the ball back to her. Things were starting well for what Roy had named The Chippewa Nine.  
  
Despite the positively beautiful impact the strike out had had on Fox, the second pitch did not yield the same results. With a crack of the bat the ball went soaring into left field, unfortunately our little outfielder, Milo was all ready in right field.  
  
"Jack, you're centerfield! You get it!" Milo yelled.  
  
"But you're right and left field!"  
  
"You're closer!"  
  
Fantastic. The one time Jack decided not to go out on a limb and follow instructions clean. But Jack was weird when it came to baseball. Hey, it was baseball. It was another, holier plane of existence.  
  
He saw the ball flying into left and ran as fast and as hard as his pudgy legs would take him. Come on, Milo, run. You can do this. You can get it, he told himself. Harder and harder, he pushed himself and the ball bounced off the grass with Milo a mere ten feet away. I can still do this. He ran hard towards the ball calling to him on the ground. He grabbed that baseball with such fervor and conviction like he'd never had in his life. He threw it to Jim at first base.but Fox was already passing first. Jim threw to Roy, Roy to Tobey. Here's where Tobey tried to tackle Fox and beat him up after he scored at home plate.  
  
There was no particular penalty for that save for more yelling between the two teams. It might have been stopped, but Pete arrived about fifteen minutes after the fight to hide under a bush. Jack told him not to come.  
  
As it turned out, Jem and Fox's team did not have a long stroke of luck either. Judy struck out Casanova and Righty, and Jack caught Job's fly ball.  
  
If the little band of brothers (and sisters) gained a little more confidence it was all in false hope. By the ninth inning the only score between either of the teams was Fox's initial home run. And whenever Milo was in right field the ball was in left field. Whenever Milo was in left field the ball was in right field. Jack eventually just went after any balls that came to the outfield.  
  
Now everything had started to fall apart within the Nine. The summer heat was taking a toll on their tempers.  
  
Milo was never in the right place at the right time because he 'didn't know what the hell he was doing' but it wasn't his 'God damn fault'. Judy's winning arm was starting to wear. She'd been 'throwing grapefruits' since the seventh inning and 'it was a miracle' the field kept the other team from scoring. Tobey 'didn't know how to spell "Toby"'. Emily was getting peevish because no one was listening to her sage advice and they were all 'stupid!'.  
  
It was now bottom of the ninth with two outs against them and Jimmy was on second. They needed a homerun.their last chance would be stepping up to the plate in moments.  
  
"We can't send Milo up, he's finished.look at him." Judy sighed, Milo didn't argue.  
  
"How about Brent?" Tobey suggested.  
  
"Not a snowball's chance in hell!" Emily snapped.  
  
"What?!" Brent sneered.  
  
"Peewee likes to throw highs balls. You couldn't hit a high ball if your life depended on it.but you always swing at them 'cause you wanna prove you can."  
  
"Em, you're not even playing. Don't talk like that." Her cousin reprimanded her.  
  
"Jackie honey," said Emily a la Maggie, "you may be my big cousin anywhere else in the whole world, but on this field I am your coach. I maybe the little one to all of you anywhere else in the whole world but here I'm coach. Jack, tell me what I am today."  
  
Jack was on the verge of telling her the real reason why she was 'coach,' but refrained. "Coach." He mumbled.  
  
"I CAN'T HEAR YOU!"  
  
"Coach!" he shouted.  
  
"What was that?!"  
  
"COACH!" Everyone shouted back.  
  
"That's better.Jack you're in." Emily waved her hand.  
  
"What?" he asked.  
  
"You go bat.I'm coach and that's final." Emily crossed her arms. Everyone was stunned. If anyone could pull it off it would be Jack. Fluke or not, she was as right as anyone could be.  
  
"Alright," Jack bent down to get his bat, "I'll tell 'em we're ready."  
  
"And let's not turn on each other anymore." said Judy to everyone, putting a reassuring hand a Jack's shoulder. "If we're going to scream at anyone it should be the future cellmates over there."  
  
"If Fox ever got arrested his dad would pay somebody to get him off." laughed Jim.  
  
"Yeah, I know it's been said before, but what the hell kind of stupid name is Fox?" asked Tobey. "Like I said before, the kind of name Jem Black's aunt and uncle like." Milo smiled, wiping the dirt and sweat from his glasses.  
  
"All and all that kid's gotta be put in his place. He can't charge around here like he owns the place. Who does he think he is? It's time for the sincere people of Chippewa Falls to rise! .Or completely kick their sorry asses in the most pure and holy of challenges." Tobey smiled.  
  
"Amen to that." Jack put his hands in the middle of the circle. Everyone else put their hands in together, too. "To hell with Fox. It's not about him.or the rest of those goons for that matter. It's about us.ready guys?"  
  
"As ever!" Emily chirped.  
  
"VIVA LA WISCONSIN!" They threw up their hands cheering. Jack was the body going up to the plate, but they were all ready to hit.  
  
Jack made his way to the mound and dragged his bat across the ground, hearing only the scraping of the wood on the dirt. He twisted his grip on the bat as a single droplet of sweat fell on his brow, running down from his nose to his cheek, making the side of his nose itch a little, but he didn't move to scratch it. He didn't so much as twitch. He was ready. He was focused. He was determined.  
  
Breathe, Dawson, breathe.  
  
Peewee released that faithful ball. The Jack was going to hit that baseball far across the field, it was the one that was going to win this game. He swung his bat hard in one smooth, graceful movement, and waited for a resounding crack.  
  
"That's strike one, Dawson!" he heard Marty Martin laugh. His heart sank, his swing empty.  
  
It wasn't for Jack to dwell on the bad, but somehow he couldn't get those familiar words out of his head. They plagued him.  
  
The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day; The score stood four to two with but one inning more to play; And then, when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same, A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.  
  
A straggling few got up to go, in deep despair. The rest clung to that hope which 'springs eternal in the human breast'; They thought, If only Casey could but get a whack at that, We'd put up even money now, with Casey at the bat.  
  
But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake, And the former was a lulu and the latter was a cake; So, upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat, For there seemed but little chance of Casey's getting to the bat.  
  
But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all, And Blake, the much despised, tore the cover off the ball. And when the dust had lifted and men saw what had occurred. There was Jimmy safe at second, and Flynn a-huggin' third.  
  
Then from five thousand throats and more there rose a lusty yell, It rumbled through the valley; it rattled in the dell; It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat, For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.  
  
There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place; There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile on Casey's face, And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat, No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat. Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt; Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt. Then, while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip, Defiance gleamed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip. And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air, And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there. Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped -- 'That ain't my style,' said Casey. 'Strike one,' the umpire said.  
  
From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar, Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore. 'Kill him; kill the umpire!' shouted someone from the stand -- And it's likely they'd have killed him had not Casey raised his hand.  
  
With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone; He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game on; He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the spheroid flew; But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said, 'Strike two.'  
  
'Fraud,' cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered, 'Fraud,' But one scornful look from Casey, and the multitude was awed. They saw his face grow stern and cold; they saw his muscles strain, And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again. The sneer is gone from Casey's lip; his teeth are clinched in hate; He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate, And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go, And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.  
  
Oh! Somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright; The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light. And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout; But there is no joy in Mudville -- mighty Casey has struck out.  
  
But he hasn't struck out yet. He won't be buried till he's dead. Damn Ernest Lawrence Thayer for putting such bad words in his head!  
  
You can do it again. The last one didn't happen. You can do it. This is our moment, baby. Jack thought to himself.  
  
"Any day now, Dawson." Fred the catcher gave him a nudge in the ankle.  
  
"I'm ready." Jack nodded. His team nodded with him.  
  
He could hear his father telling him to keep his eye on the ball. It didn't take long for him to realize this voice wasn't coming from his own memory, but from the nearby bushes.  
  
I told him not to come! Damn it, Dad! He breathed again. Alright, concentrate. You can do it.  
  
Just as before, he concentrated on the incoming ball. It looked in range. He gave another hard, graceful swing.  
  
This time he heard that faithful crack. Mighty Jack had struck back.  
  
The white orb shot out into the sky and landed far in the field where it would further reside.  
  
Jack sprung from home and ran towards first. Jim ran after third. The children were silent, not speaking a word. Mark Gunderson ran through the field to an impossible goal. Now Jack rounded seconded and Jim lusted for home.  
  
Fox yelled from the field and Peewee from the mound. There was a thud at home plate as Jim's body hit ground.  
  
One more to go, all eyes were on Jack. Mark held the ball in his hands ready to throw: first to Jem at second, and then to Duncan at third. Even Peter could be heard from the bushes yelling 'Go! Go! Go!'  
  
Duncan caught the ball as Jack left his base. He drew his arm back aiming for home plate. 'Slide! Slide!' screamed little Em and her cousin dove to the ground. And what a game, what a hit, for the ball had missed Fred Dawsen's mitt.  
  
***  
  
It's just a favorite memory now for those who are still around to remember it. But what a memory it is. There was such a great energy like one rarely finds. The Nine charged the field in an incredible rush. They lifted Jack up and paraded him around. Pete was so excited he came out from the bushes and ran up to his son-who was no longer angry he came.  
  
They went back to town skipping and whooping and cheering. Emily was high above all them as she was seated on her uncle's shoulders, clapping and giggling.  
  
Throughout the next year there were many rematches between Jem's team and the Chippewa Nine. The Nine lost every one of them. 


	22. Chippewa Falls

"I'm grounded till Christmas!" Judy yelled.  
  
"My mother wanted names I had to give 'em." Tobey shrugged.  
  
"I did not make you paint your shed in primary color stripes when you were supposed to white wash it!"  
  
"Yeah, but I say Milo and Jack do that stuff all the time. It wasn't fair."  
  
"Accept the blame yourself! It was you and you only! That's what's fair! Why does no one believe me?"  
  
"Because I am a brilliant liar.that and I snuck the buckets up to your room when your family was at church."  
  
"That's it, Jackson! That's it!" Judy marched toward him angrily.  
  
"Whoa there, Parker. Settle down now there's no need to get all riled-ow!"  
  
Why exactly Judy was carrying a fork in her pocket only the birds know. She stabbed Tobey in the arm with a rare act of violence on her part.  
  
***  
  
And thus the big end to the summer of 1907. Tobey needed some excuse as to why he painted his family's barn red, blue, and yellow and he paid for it with a three-pronged scar.  
  
In the fall Judy and Milo continued to high school, Tobey went to work for his dad; Jack went off to art school in Eau Claire, only coming home for holidays. Emily got lonely and then made friends her own age. But Judy still took her Christmas shopping for her folks when there was no Jack.  
  
As fun as a school where he actually enjoyed the subjects was, Jack was lonely and ready to go home by the spring. He'd made friends easily and he had a lot at school, but he felt his real life was at home. Then he would wonder if he'd spend his whole life in Chippewa Falls. Never leaving or never coming back both seemed pretty frightening. As good as the college- like experience of art school was, Eau Claire wasn't exactly the center of excitement in the world.  
  
He met his dad and Tobey at the train station, they were happy to see him, but he couldn't help but feel there was something not quiet right with his dad.  
  
When Jack asked how everyone was Peter didn't go into detail. They stopped by the library to pick up a book for Joe: another Oscar Wilde collection. Joe had a thing for Oscar Wilde plays.  
  
As he approached his house things were stranger still. Maggie was yelling.which under normal circumstances would be considered normal, but it wasn't about crazy Mrs. Wilcox who sat outside the barbershop.  
  
Tobey wasn't greeted by the usual 'Tobias, my love' by Hannah. When he wasn't crushing Miss Taylor, he was thinking about Jack's mother-although Hannah was purely teasing.  
  
But there was no teasing today.  
  
Peter cleared his throat loudly for the woman to hear. They immediately stopped. And Hannah ran over to her son.  
  
"Jack, my baby!"  
  
"Hi, Mom." He hugged her, feeling awkward. What was going on?  
  
"Hey, guy!" His aunt hugged him, too.  
  
After an awkward reunion lunch Jack asked Tobey what had been happening. He had no idea. When Joe came home from delivering that day he was just like the other three. When Emily got home from school she was walking with another little girl her age. Which was a surprise, but the only pleasant one of the day.  
  
He didn't want to ask her, this little child, what was going on, but she was the only one who would give it to him straight.  
  
"Money, brother and sister things." Emily sighed, curling up on her bed. She seemed like she had aged inside, she was barely nine.  
  
"Money?"  
  
"Art school costs a lot. And we have six people to keep track of. And." Emily said sadly, "I think my mommy and daddy want to leave because they're grown-ups and they don't want to be the little brother and sister anymore. And because mommy's thirty-one and daddy's twenty and they're adults God dammit."  
  
"It'll be alright, kid."  
  
"No it won't. Grandpa Dawson built this house and they wanna leave, and not into the old Shelton's house either. They wanna a completely new life. But they never asked me!"  
  
"You don't have to go if you don't want to."  
  
"No, they say it's for all our benefits. 'Cause Aunt Hannah and Uncle Peter can pay for your school and I'll have better opportunities if I go all the way through high school in damn 'civilization.' I'll never get to have Miss Taylor! I'll never get to tell stupid old Miss Law to stuff it in her fucking stupid old ass! This is my home! This is home!" Emily sobbed. Jack picked her up on his lap and rocked like she was a baby.  
  
"You don't know if this will happen. And even if it does, the whole family will still get to see each other."  
  
Emily just cried. Jack picked up their new book he'd been reading to her. (They just finished Last of the Mohichans)  
  
"'Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it, 'and what is the use of a book,' thought Alice, 'without pictures or conversations?''"  
  
***  
  
"We want to explain something to the two of you." All four adults stood in front of the children, much like a firing squad. Hannah spoke. "We know this has been very hard for all of us, but we feel it is the best thing we can do."  
  
Maggie knelt down to her daughter. "Baby, we're moving out." she said softly, tugging at a black banana curl.  
  
Emily hissed in rage. "No!" She turned around and ran upstairs.  
  
"Emily!" Everyone called as flew to her room. They were answered with a slamming door. P "I think you're rushing into this." Jack said as he turned back to the adults. P "No, son. We've talked about this a lot." Peter put his hand on his shoulder.  
  
"You couldn't wait till Emily's out of school? She won't be able to handle this."  
  
"This is for everyone," Joe said, "we can't stay like this forever. And it's time we *all* took a look at that." He looked at the other adults knowingly.  
  
"Where are you going?"  
  
"Your aunt and I have some distant relatives in Manhattan. They have a grocery store and own the apartments above it. They offered Joe and Maggie jobs with an apartment for decent rent. They've been writing back and forth for a while." Hannah said.  
  
"Don't look so glum, Jack. You'll be the only kid on your block to spend Christmas in New York City!" Joe smiled.  
  
"New York City? Holy sh-I mean I am quite ecstatic, Uncle."  
  
The folks sighed with some relief. At least one of the children would have something to smile about. Despite the pretty holiday lights of New York dancing in his head. Jack couldn't shake the vision of an empty house.  
  
"So these relatives of yours." Jack asked, "they have kids?"  
  
"More than the neighborhood." Maggie smirked.  
  
"Who are they?"  
  
"The McBrides."  
  
***  
  
The day came in August when Maggie, Joe, and Em would be leaving for Manhattan. It was a beautiful day. After the entire Dawson family, even Emily, had gotten themselves so excited over New York City they realized the final goodbye wouldn't be so easy.  
  
"Come on, Jack! Time to go the station!" his father called from outside.  
  
Time to go. Time for his family to be ripped in two. His home was already too big and too cold. He was the only one left in the house save for some vague memories.his Grandpa Dawson before he passed away, getting ready for Maggie and Joe's wedding and humming and there was a teenage Maggie and Joe arguing about who left a broom in the living room. He saw his own little self shaking his finger at his tiny cousin. "Bad baby." he would say. There was Christmas 1900 when they all went through town and Jack went on and on to a seventeen month-old Emily about what Christmas decorations meant.  
  
Jack closed the door behind him.  
  
For the first time in her life Emily felt empty. The weather was so beautiful. Bad things could happen on a sunny day. That was strange for Emily.  
  
The six Dawsons stood on the platform, waiting for the train and exchanging hugs and kisses and I love you's and I'll miss you's when an entire crowd showed up. The whole of the Jacksons, the Parkers, the Shaws, and even the Belles showed up to wish them off.  
  
Two brothers and two sisters that had never been separated in all their thirty some odd years we're going to split. And two cousins, though more like brothers some would say, we're about to grow up alone.  
  
"And whenever mommy acts mean." Hannah said to her niece.  
  
"There's always telegrams."  
  
"Next time there's a ball game you make sure you get to play." Peter added, winking at Jack.  
  
"I better!" Emily agreed.  
  
"Hey, kiddo," Maggie said to Jack, "watch out for those Eau Claire girls. They're dangerous.and a little loose if you ask me."  
  
"Will do."  
  
"And that's quite a fashionable suit you're wearing." Joe added.  
  
"Oh Uncle Joe," Jack gave him a dismissing wave of the hand, "fashion is a form of ugliness so intolerable that we have to alter it every six months."  
  
Joe smiled. He'd learned well.  
  
Peter and Joe put each other hands shoulders. "Till Christmas, little brother and till death, solider."  
  
Then Peter whispered something Joe, then something to Maggie. Whatever he said to Maggie made her laugh hard. Hannah gave Joe a hairpin. It was part of an old joke years ago the children did not know. It was something similar to the Judy/Tobey fork incident. Hannah took her sister's hand like she had their first day in Chippewa Falls and said "You're your own person now. You always were."  
  
Maggie and Joe boarded. Emily stayed behind for just a minute to complete the secret handshake she had with her cousin.  
  
Emily turned to leave when Jack grabbed her arm and whispered to her. "No matter where you go, I'll always be your big cousin. Here." He pulled off his white cap and placed atop Emily's head. Which looked appalling with her pretty blue church dress, but Emily thought it pretty grand. He hugged her and turned her around. She boarded.  
  
The three emigrants leaned out the window to what now seemed to be half of Chippewa Falls. The train began to pull away and Jack's heart sank. Hannah and Peter exchanged glances. Hannah smiled. Peter nodded.  
  
They each grabbed one of their son's hands and ran with the train cheering at the other half of the family as the waved back.  
  
"Goodbye! Will miss you!"  
  
"See you in the City!"  
  
The memory stuck perfectly in all their minds. Emily was actually wearing a dress (not Jack's hand-me-downs) and a pretty powder blue one at that. Maggie's frizzy auburn hair was tied up on top of her head while her sister's smooth blonde hair was tied back and tight. All the men wore their best Sunday suits (although it was a Thursday) and Jack's hair was slicked back and neat.  
  
Jack looked at his the other half of his family, the other half of his heart, disappear. Somewhere in the in the distance the sun hit his aunt's hair making it like fire.  
  
***  
  
One more day till New York. It was the first time either Joe or Emily had been out of Wisconsin. Maggie remembered her first time in Chippewa Falls when she was twelve as she tried to concentrate on her husband's book: IExcuse me a moment. I'm in the middle of my performance of the attentive son. /I She laughed, but set the play down. Enough reading for one day.  
  
She remembered leaving St. Louis some twenty or so years ago. The Walker sisters never knew real family life. Arthur Walker left his young wife, Susannah when his daughter was two and his next child on the way. Susannah died in childbirth with baby Margaret. Her old Aunt Amy took the babies in and raised them. Amy hated the children. And never cared much for 'a faceless immigrant mick-girl' as Sue's husband called her. Likewise her aunt beat her children senseless for the slightest mistake.  
  
Amy wrote to an old friend's son (how sniveling Aunt Amy made any friends was strange to the girls, but lo she had one once) asking for lodging when they would visit Wisconsin. He obliged.  
  
It was no visit. Amy sent the girls up by themselves and died a month later. From the train station fifteen year-old Hannah asked for directions to the Dawson Farm. They found there a Mr. Matthew Dawson, a widower of 40 and his two sons. He took them in.  
  
Hannah and the elder boy quickly fell enamored of each other and Maggie was left to deal with his annoying little brother, Joey. She smiled at the memory and turned her head to see that annoying kid sound asleep with their daughter on his lap.  
  
***  
  
"We're here!" Joe nudged Emily who was staring intently at the new train station watching the light pour through half moon shaped windows. She stretched her body out further.  
  
"Look.stars." She pointed. Her parents leaned out to see. And they were: the heavens painted across the ceiling.  
  
Emily was curious, but still reluctant. The idea they were actually staying in New York permanently was beginning to reenter her mind.  
  
They grab all their bags with the help of an employee. "See, even the train stations are a marvel. Have you ever seen so many people in once place?" Joe nudged his daughter again.  
  
"It's all inside. It's weird." Emily huffed.  
  
Maggie searched the crowd for a woman holding a sign that said "Dawsons." She waved her down.  
  
"Mr. and Mrs. Dawson?" said a woman in her fifties. She looked older though, shriveled with little life. She reminded Maggie somewhat of Aunt Amy.  
  
"Yes, Mrs. McBride. I'm Joe, this is Maggie, and this," he pulled Em around from behind him, "is our daughter, Emily." Mrs. McBride gave no introduction as to her first name although the Dawsons were pretty sure it was Minnie, nor did she introduce the little blonde girl next to her. One of the McBrides' many children they guessed.  
  
The girl was eleven, pretty, fair and blue-eyed. Emily was busy behaving like a hostile and frightened animal. She had decided she wanted to go home. Everything was strange. Buildings were titanic and close together. The ground was paved and hard everywhere you went.  
  
"Welcome to McBride's Mr. and Mrs. Dawson." Minnie stated in her faint Irish accent.  
  
"Come, Em honey! Let's get this stuff up to our new apartment!" Joe chirped.  
  
"Apartment?" Emily said snobbishly. She wanted her big, beautiful house back. She wanted her big, beautiful yard.  
  
So they moved to yes, their *apartment* above McBride's. It had four small rooms including its own bathroom. Her old house had eight big rooms with an outhouse outside. The idea of an indoor bathroom struck Emily as gross.  
  
That night they settled into their new home. Emily's room was small and toys were not all over the floor. The walls were bare. Emily's old room was painted baby blue with carved wood paneling. There was nothing on the dresser next to her bed but a single framed picture of her whole family. It was different than most photographs of its day.they were all smiling.  
  
Emily pulled the covers up around her shoulders and turned away from the picture. She couldn't look at it anymore.  
  
***  
  
The next day Joe and Maggie started work at McBride's. Emily had nothing to do and school wouldn't start for over a month. And there was no one in this enormous city that she knew.  
  
Her parents told her to come with them down to the store and help. There Emily sat in the corner. The Dawsons wondered if this had been a mistake even with the steady income and the excitement of the city.  
  
Emily spent her time quietly in the corner never moving for two hours- something that was impossible for her before. But Emily being stubborn wasn't anything new.  
  
"Hi there." A voice called from behind.  
  
"Hi." Emily mumbled.  
  
It was the blonde girl from yesterday. She stuck her hand out. "I'm Mary."  
  
"Emily." she grumbled.  
  
"Yeah. I remember from yesterday. I don't have to work until nighttime today. I can show you around the neighborhood.if you want."  
  
"Maybe."  
  
"Emily, go play with Mary." Maggie said after the next costumer left.  
  
Emily sighed heavily, embarrassing Mary. She began to pick herself up then Mary grabbed her hands and ran out of the store and around the corner, not letting go of her hand.  
  
***  
  
Nearly a month had passed since Maggs, Joey, and Em left. Jack lied awake in bed while his parents were helping out at some church function he chose not to go to. He sifted through his portfolio. It had grown since his fourteenth birthday. Pictures of his friends, his family town, drawings he'd made at school.  
  
He groaned. Everybody was there that night anyway. He thought of going. Judy was there. The three of them, he, Tobey, and Milo had had silly little crushes on Judy since about the fifth grade, but now he was really starting see her as a woman. She was starting to look like one.  
  
*I'll go. It won't kill me,* he thought. He got up and lazily stalked down the stairs.  
  
He made his way slowly to town, kicking the dirt as he went. He brought his portfolio with him. He wasn't sure why though. He wasn't in the mood for showing off his work. The house was so empty. *Christmas in New York,* he reminded himself, *Christmas in New York*. Bright lights and millions of people. Automobiles everywhere.  
  
The afternoon had been pretty good. Tobey had been acting like a jerk but in a fun way.  
  
I 'Where have you been?' Jack demanded.  
  
'Your mom.'  
  
'Shut up, Tob.'  
  
'I can't help it your mother's a beautiful woman. and now that I think about it your aunt's pretty cute, too.'  
  
'What next? Emily?'  
  
'You know, when she gets older.'  
  
Jack punched him the arm. P 'Only kidding, besides first boyfriend she has.I'll go to New York and help you beat him up.'  
  
The idea made Jack smile. /I  
  
He'd been lonely the past month, but he still needed his alone time. It was nice walking by himself with just the dark and the stars. No one was talking at him blocking his thoughts.  
  
He wondered what his house would be like with Emily, Joe, and Maggie in New York and him in Eau Claire. Only mom and dad would be home most of the year. He wondered what they thought of that. Would they be lonely, too? Would they like the peace and quiet? It usually occurred to him to ask them right away, but it had been a strange time. He couldn't believe he never asked. Now he just kept thinking about it.  
  
Jack came to the bend and began to see town. It looked so bright that night. Sure the town had had electricity since Jack was a baby, but there was something very bright in the middle of town. In fact something must have been almost.glowing? Something in town was glowing? Glowing orange? And the glow was moving, waving almost. Something wasn't right.  
  
It was a fire. The church was on fire. He could hear shouts from town as he drew nearer. Instinctively, he dropped his portfolio and his drawings spilled out everywhere. He ran as hard as he'd ever run, harder than during that ball game over year before. His heart was pounding like it never had before.  
  
When he got there he was met by a crowd of townspeople. Judy, Tobey, and Milo quickly found him.  
  
"Where are my parents?"  
  
"A kid's stuck. They're just gonna get 'em out. It's alright." Milo clutched his friends shoulders. Jack pushed him aside and ran and clawed his way through the sea of onlookers.  
  
"Lemme through! Lemme God damn it! MOVE!"  
  
"Jack, don't!" Judy yelled. She ran directly after him.  
  
"Mom?! Dad?!" he called as a man rushed to pull him away.  
  
Jack desperately searched the burning building with his eyes while a man gripped his arm. Figures. Three of them. Two adults and a child. *That's them. They got him.*  
  
"Mom! Dad!"  
  
He heard his mother's voice. "Jack stay back!" His mother's voice! She was in there and alive. *She's fine. They're fine. They're just coming out now.* His parents, both Mom and Dad, emerged with a little boy, one of the Brandon's children. Jack grabbed him and handed to somebody. He saw their faces and smiled.  
  
Good. They'd all be safe now. *Safe, safe, safe.*  
  
He saw his mother urgently pulling at his father's foot. Now he was stuck. Jack tried to move forward, but the man kept a grip on him.  
  
"HELP THEM! Somebody help them, damn you! Stop standing around!" He screamed.  
  
"Jack, it's fine!" his father called. "Only a minute now!"  
  
Judy tried to go forward once she fought her way through the gaping crowd. Her father found her and pulled her back. He hadn't shown up that night until a minute after Jack. The good doctor, Giles Parker kept going toward the building to help his neighbors. Judy started crying.  
  
Just then the doorframe fell in and Hannah and Peter automatically moved back from it and back into the burning building. The force of the crash knocked Giles to the ground.  
  
Milo and Tobey fought their way through the crowd to others. Jack still cried out to his parents, still seeing their figures in the dancing flames. His father was now holding his mother in his arms.  
  
"MOM! DAD!" Jack yelled. He could still see their silhouettes moving within. Next the steeple with three loud bursts, exploded. It seemed to pump up and get grander with every blast of orange. Boom, boom boom! Like a drum beat. Everyone screamed.  
  
Jack launched himself forward as the building caved in. He screamed with his parents as the church went up in flames. It was completely engulfed. Structural boards fell one after the other. With each one Jack let out a new cry of pain.  
  
From there on Jack couldn't control himself. He wrestled his friends to get toward the fire and didn't stop screaming. His parents did.  
  
"MOM?! DAD!?" He kept wailing. "GET OUT! GET OUT!" He was still calling to them. They didn't answer.  
  
Tobey and Milo pinned him to the ground, trying not to look themselves. They were shaking so hard at what they'd just seen they couldn't keep down Jack in his madness.  
  
He heaved them off of himself and made another dash to the fire. Tobey grabbed the back of his shirt, which was just enough to slow him down for Milo to cross in front of him. Judy looked up from holding her daddy on as they crouched on the ground.  
  
Milo grabbed his friend's shoulders once more but gripped tight.  
  
"LET ME GO! I swear I'll kill you!" Jack raged.  
  
"Jack, stop please!" he begged. Jack fought against Milo's arms until he had a grip on them both. He was ready to throw Milo to the ground and go save his parents when Milo broke one arm free and punched him in the face.  
  
He punched him so hard he fell to the ground unconscious. Milo dropped to his knees.  
  
Jack was out. His sleeping face was red, tear-stained and wild. He was still in pain. Dr. Parker struggled to his feet as the fire department arrived. It all happened so fast.  
  
He picked up young Jack Dawson and wiped the blood from his mouth. He'd known him since he was a baby. He'd known Peter Dawson since they were both babies.Peter just died. Peter and Hannah were burned and crushed to death three minutes ago. They were 34.  
  
***  
  
It was midnight by the time the police had to leave. Jack still hadn't woken up yet. Milo had delivered a mighty blow. Awful as things had been Giles had never seen a punch thrown with more love.  
  
Tobey and Milo picked up Jack's drawings and portfolio where he had dropped them and gave them to the Parkers to give to Jack when he woke up.  
  
Dr. Parker carried Jack back to the Parker house and placed him in his elder daughter, Elizabeth's old room.  
  
Jack didn't wake up for another few hours. At first he'd forgotten everything that had happened. Then a feeling of nausea washed over him. Then came such a feeling of overwhelming pain. He couldn't stand it. He started shaking all over.  
  
He sat up for God knows how long. It was August, but he felt cold. He could hear floorboards creaking in the hall. Looking around, he realized he was at the Parkers'. This was Elizabeth's room before she got married.  
  
He slowing swung his legs over the bed. Everything looked blue and gray. Everything looked dead. The floor hard, too hard as his bare feet brushed the ground. He staggered his way to the chamber pot in the far corner and threw up. After he rose, Jack found a glass of water on the bureau, washed his mouth out, and searched for the door. He hesitated for a moment, almost afraid to put pressure on his feet, to walk outside of this room.  
  
Jack winced and walked towards the door. He breathed for a moment and placed his hand on the knob. Mom and Dad went to heaven hours earlier. What more did he have to lose?  
  
He nudged the door open. At the far end of the hall a figure was hugging it's knees on the floor. Its head turned.  
  
"Jack?" she whispered. Judy silently rose and approached her life-long friend. He stopped until she was in close range of his face. He looked deader than his parents. She put her hands on his arms. He just stared at her until he lost his balance.  
  
Judy quickly caught him and held him steady. She sat him down on the floor. She never asked if he was all right or to say anything.  
  
"Can I ask you a favor?" Jack asked weakly.  
  
"Anything."  
  
"Just hold my hand."  
  
***  
  
A week went by and after the funeral Jack insisted on moving back into his house. He worked in the fields and in the stables for hours on end. He tried to be alone all the time, but people, mostly the Shaws, Jacksons, and Parkers, came by at least once a day each.  
  
Everyone was an annoyance. New orphan, they should leave him the hell alone. It should be obvious and if not they should have gotten the picture every time he blatantly told them to go away. And the whole damn town, too. This fucking God forsaken town. They just watched, the lot of them. They just sat back and watched them die! That stupid Brandon kid had to get stuck. And that useless moron Bailey Simms had to knock down *two* oil lamps in one fall. The fucking slow fire department. There's a reason why they train those worthless bastards. And those people just gaped and watched them die. They all helped kill his parents.  
  
He tried to send a telegram to Maggie, Joe, and Emily, but he couldn't say everything he needed to in it. He sent a letter, but it didn't arrive in time to get them back home for the funeral.  
  
*** P Thirteen year-old Danny McBride and his friend walked the stairs of his building to the door of his new neighbors' apartment.  
  
"First letter from home," said Isaac, "that must be exciting."  
  
"I'll bet." He knocked on the door.  
  
"Morning, boys." Joe smiled.  
  
"Mail, Mr. Dawson."  
  
"Thanks." Joe walked absent-mindedly towards the kitchen table. "Maggs!" he called to wife who took the letter. Joe turned to see Danny and Isaac had left the door partly open. He shrugged, ignoring it.  
  
At the same time Danny's sister, Mary was heading up the stairs to find Emily, they had quickly become close friends. But then something made her freeze in her tracks and drained her blood.  
  
Maggie's scream.  
  
It had ripped through the building. Mary had never heard a scream like that before. It was blood curdling.  
  
She stayed there, three steps from the top, for minutes. Then she found the will to move. One step after another she headed toward the Dawsons' apartment.  
  
Maggie Dawson was half-collapsed in her husband arms who was barely standing himself.  
  
Something terrible happened. Mary had never seen anything like it. She didn't know how long she was staring at the scene, but she backed away when she realized she was in plain sight. If Mr. and Mrs. Dawson saw they didn't care.  
  
Mary was powerless to help them. Whatever happened was so awful she couldn't understand it. It was the worst thing she'd ever felt.  
  
Some time later she was still hiding in the hall when Emily emerged.  
  
"Em." she said softly.  
  
Emily tried to speak, she kept acting as if she was going to tell her something, but wasn't sure what happened.  
  
Mary hugged her little friend. Emily leaned against the wall and slowly slid down the floor. "What is it?" she asked as delicately and sincerely as she could.  
  
"It's.it's.it's so bad." Mary put her arm Emily and squeezed her shoulder. Emily began hyperventilating and shaking. She was not quite crying, but every time she breathed she let out a painful whine.  
  
"Emily?"  
  
"My.Aunt Hannah and Uncle Peter.they're, th-they're dead. The church burned down and they were.they were trapped inside. Jackie ran away." Mary hugged Em so tightly. Emily gripped Mary so hard her little fingers dug into her skin. Mary didn't wince. She was almost as scared as Emily. She didn't know why. "They're dead."  
  
Emily started crying. "It's not fair! It's not fair! Why did they have die? They weren't old, they weren't bad. And Jack.he ran away and didn't tell us where he's going. Now he's gonna die, too!"  
  
"No, no," said Mary faintly, "maybe he's coming here.?" Emily shook her head violently. Mary tightened her hold and huddled over her.  
  
"No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no."  
  
***  
  
One Week Earlier  
  
It was nine o'clock in the morning and Jack had just gotten up.late for a farm boy. The sunlight was harsh. Harsh and cold.  
  
Jack felt old. Old and dead. Life felt dead. Pointless. He'd gotten up the day before and took a look in the mirror. He didn't recognize the man before him. "Man." What man? He was fifteen years old. He was just a kid. He also noticed he was in bad need of a shave. Shave? Since when did he need to shave? He'd never shaved in his life. It was not for nothing he was called Baby Face.  
  
Baby Face. Wasn't nearly so bad as Johnny Shrivel Nuts. Johnny Shrivel Nuts! He hadn't thought of that in years. It made him smile. Funny.he hadn't smiled in forever. It almost hurt his face.  
  
Later that fateful day.whatever day it was, he decided he couldn't go back to school. How would he pay for it anyway? The farm paid for school and he was the only one around to mind the farm. He couldn't do it by himself although God knows that was all he'd been doing since Hannah and Peter passed.  
  
Passed. They were gone. Dead. Emily, Maggie, and Joe had to know by now. He wondered if a letter was on the way for him. Begging him to come to Manhattan or telling him they were coming back home? For what? To have him be a burden for them in their new life? Or to come back and die in Chippewa Falls?  
  
Die in Chippewa Falls. Live here. Die here. Or just simply waste away in this bubble. He had to leave. His childhood was over. He wouldn't die here.and if he did it would be to come back to die. He had to live life for himself. He already was living on his own and supporting himself. The fact that he was falling apart and dying within himself might have been a sign he was doing something wrong.  
  
Peter and Hannah's son, living like this? He couldn't let it happen. Life stopped seeming like a death trap. He refused to let his parents down. He owed them that. He owed them the world. And he would find some way to give it to them.  
  
Jack was going to leave Chippewa Falls. He was going to travel and see the world. Then he'd go to New York and return to his family a man, then back to Chippewa Falls to see his friends. He couldn't just run to them anytime something bad happened. He wanted them to be proud of what he would become.  
  
He collected as much money as he could and decided how he wanted to divide the property and the animals. They were his now. He was a land owning citizen. But that wasn't going to keep him here.  
  
First he confronted Milo and Tobey. He called them over to his house the afternoon before he planned to leave. He paced on his front porch as his friends pleaded.  
  
"You're leaving?" Milo asked, eyes wide. "Where are you going?"  
  
"Wherever I feel."  
  
"You're a damn fool." said Tobey.  
  
"It's freedom. Don't you see? Freedom."  
  
"Judy's gonna whoop your hide when she finds out." Jack, given his aforementioned preference to Judy, didn't think that would be so bad. But he repressed the thought quickly. Thinking about a nice girl like that and Judy, too. Shame on him.  
  
"What about us? What about the rest of your family?" Tobey growled. Jack was just going crazy. He knew he had to be cracking.  
  
"What about living my whole life in Nowhere Falls, Wisconsin and never doing anything else until I die?"  
  
"It doesn't have to be that way, Jack." Milo thought of saying something about Hannah and Peter, but refrained for fear.  
  
"It's my life. And I think I gotta leave. Manhattan is gonna be good for Maggie, Joe, and Em.and there's somethin' good for me, too."  
  
"Why do you have to leave now?" Tobey asked.  
  
"Because.because.because I don't wanna die here," Jack said getting weaker. He sat on the stoop with his hands in his face. "I don't wanna die here," he sobbed, "I don't wanna die here."  
  
Tobey and Milo sat on either side of him, patting his shoulder and rubbing his head.  
  
"I promise you, it'll be alright, buddy." Tobey whispered.  
  
***  
  
That night Jack made the final preparations for his departure late that evening. He fed the cows and the chickens the last meals they'd ever receive from a Dawson. He tidied up the house from top to bottom. It was to be his last night at the Dawson home. He left signed papers on his father's desk, with just a few more signatures, the house, the farm, and the animals would belong to the Parkers, the Shaws, and the Jacksons respectively.  
  
He still needed to tell Judy. He had hours left in Chippewa Falls and he was stalling to tell one of his best friends. She'd give him hell that was for sure. She had a warm heart and an even hotter wrath-she'd make a great mother one day.  
  
He put a sign on the door that read: 'I'm following the wind now, but it will blow me back again.I promise that till the end of my days.'  
  
As Jack folded away the last of the extra blankets in his aunt and uncle's old closet someone was reading that note. The door opened slowly. Jack stalked downstairs.  
  
"You wouldn't believe how fast news travels in this town." said the intruder crossly.  
  
"I'm so sorry, Jude."  
  
"We're you just not going to tell me?"  
  
"No.I."  
  
"What?!"  
  
"I was more afraid to tell you than anybody."  
  
"Why?!"  
  
"You'd get mad."  
  
"Ya think?"  
  
"I'm sorry." Jack came the rest of the way down the stairs and stood before Judy, touching her arm.  
  
"Please don't go."  
  
"My father lived and died in the town he was born in. My mother left her hometown when she was my age and she found happiness here, but she left because her evil aunt shipped her and Maggs off. Not to say that my father wasn't happy. I just know they wanted to see more of the world and they didn't. I wanna see the world and I wanna see it now."  
  
"You have time."  
  
"Did you miss the past two weeks? No one knows how much time they have left. You could have a hundred years or day, but you'll never know."  
  
"I'm your friend. Can I help it if I love you and I don't want you to leave."  
  
"And who says I won't miss every last one of you with every part of me, but if I stay I'll grow to resent everything I love. And that's what'll really kill us. Every day's gotta be worth somethin' ya know. Every day should count for something. I think everybody's gotta look around and realize."  
  
"I think you did a good job of living like that before."  
  
"But I'm not as naïve about now."  
  
"No matter what happens, Jack Dawson, there's always a little part of you that will be the innocent little boy from Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin."  
  
"Jesus, I hope so." He hugged her tight. He'd hugged many times and more times wrestled her to the ground and pinned her there, but tonight he just.held her. It was such a glorious feeling, just holding her in his arms.  
  
He knew it now. He was about to leave tomorrow and not to return for years.if he even had a definite plan as to how long he'd be gone. But now Jack Dawson was going to do  
  
He pulled away a little from his beautiful friend. Had he ever told how beautiful she was? He wanted to so bad, but was he scared.  
  
Jack had thought of kissing Judy Parker every day since he was eleven. He'd never kissed a girl before in his life. He'd only even seen a *real* kiss once in his life. It was Judy's sister and her husband actually. He wandered behind their shed while looking for a ball and they never saw him. But it was the most incredible thing he'd seen. Every other kiss he'd seen was a hard kiss on the face or a peck on the lips. This was different. It was so many kisses in one. They were connected, mouth in mouth, it was one after the other like a string of pearls, smooth and rhythmic.  
  
Back to Judy. Jack stared at her hard.and she stared back. For once he seriously considered staying. Slowly, he touched his nose to hers. She did nothing to pull away. They stayed like that for a moment. He could hear every breath. He nudged her cheek with his nose; she sucked her breath in. He put his mouth to hers.  
  
It was one kiss after the other. Seeing was different than doing. It was so soft and smooth and warm. He'd never felt anything like it.  
  
It lasted for a while until Judy pulled away. Then she wrapped her arms around him even tighter. Oh God, she felt the same way.  
  
"So I guess that's what kissing feels like." Judy smiled softly after a few minutes.  
  
"Yeah.I guess now I don't want *you* to leave." Jack laughed.  
  
"It's your last night. I won't leave if you don't want me to."  
  
Jack looked at her in shock. She just said she would spend the night him. ".Really?" Judy simply nodded.  
  
***  
  
It was first light when Jack awoke. Judy was lying in his bed next to him. They hadn't done anything more than kiss, but just having held her all that night was enough. Judy got up minutes after Jack and they silently went downstairs and ate breakfast. She helped Jack get his stuff together and lock up the house.  
  
"Could you give a minute?" he asked her. She nodded and kissed him on the mouth once before going through the Dawsons' red front door. She kissed him. A day ago he never knew what a kiss was like, now he got them regularly.  
  
No one would live here now. He could see his mother in the kitchen he thought, or his father holding him on his knee and telling him stories. The day Emily punched him. The time he didn't want to go back to first grade and his mother made him hot chocolate with cinnamon. He remembered fishing with his father-and the time he fell through the ice and everything that followed. Baseball, May Day, playing French Revolution. He remembered the day all six of them ran out in the rain. His parents were dancing. They looked so happy and content. It was all over now.  
  
***  
  
The sky was gray and dusty that morning. The town of Chippewa Falls had not stirred just yet. Only four teenagers were up and waiting by the sign that said 'Welcome to Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin' where they had so desperately hid just the year before.  
  
"Hey, ass, I'll miss ya." Tobey hit his friend softly in the arm.  
  
"Same here, jerk." He hugged him.  
  
"I'll miss you, Milo."  
  
"Miss you, too." Milo smiled, adjusting his glasses and then he hugged Jack.  
  
Jack didn't say anything to Judy at first, but hugged her all the same. "Miss you." he said into her ear.  
  
"Miss you."  
  
"I can't think of anything else more to say, but I think I should." Jack sighed. It was the final moment.  
  
"Anything else you come up with you can write to us." Judy assured him.  
  
"Alright.I'll do that."  
  
"And take care of yourself, damn it." 'Damn it.' Milo had said damn it. He almost never cursed casually.  
  
"I don't think I should say anything else or else I'll never go." Jack said. They had a long group hug. "I love you guys, ya know that?"  
  
"'Course we do," Tobey winked.  
  
"Always will." said Milo.  
  
"And we love you, too." Judy nodded. Jack took one last good look at them. Judy: the strong maternal one, golden hair, deep dark eyes, and that soft mouth. Milo: ever the adorably hopeless boy, big glasses, that crazy mass of black hair. Tobey: the goofball, that trademark slurry voice, he'd never forget Tobey's voice.  
  
He wondered what would happen to them all. What would they be? Where would they end up? Would they ever meet again? He hoped to God so. What about his family, too? All of them. What would happen to them? He had six people left in the world and he was leaving them all. This was all in vain. The future would never be certain. All he could do was wish the best for them and love them with all his heart.  
  
With that Jack turned around and started walking. He never turned around. He just kept walking on the road and toward the horizon.  
  
Tobey and Milo instinctively clung to Judy like children.  
  
"Do you think he'll be back?" Milo asked her.  
  
"Not to stay," Judy said softly and shook her head, "he'll come back, but not to stay."  
  
***  
  
John Matthew Dawson, known to the world as Jack, left Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin early that late summer morning never to return and never to see his family or the friends he had known since birth ever again. 


	23. Ragazzo Mio

Christmas 1909 Veracruz, Mexico  
  
It was Jack Dawson's second Christmas away from home. For the past year he'd been running around the country. Initially, he'd just skipped from place to place just getting by with what he could then he started finding work. First he was a logger in Washington State. Then he swamped decks on a squid boat. After that he lived in Los Angeles near the pier in Santa Monica.  
  
For the first time in his art was supporting him. He got a cheap, run-down little apartment. He spent all day on the town's brand new pier. He made a little sign that said *portraits 10 cents*. He usually made a dollar a day and never had to follow a set schedule either. He went to lunch whenever felt like it, or went on the rides, and went home whenever he got tired.  
  
It was perfect. But by the time the summer dwindled people weren't lined up to have the cute kid draw their picture anymore so he decided he'd go to Paris and see what the real artists were doing. Just like that, he woke one morning and said, "I think I'll go to France."  
  
He'd heard there was cheap transportation going to Europe near Veracruz so he crossed the border into Mexico. It was his first time in a foreign country. He was able to get by with the little Spanish he'd learned in California.  
  
He had just enough money to get a ticket, but getting on to the dock seemed more of challenge. A terrible brawl had broken out between two kids around thirteen or fourteen. The boy was losing desperately to the girl.  
  
"Por favor," he said, "tu ganas, tu ganas." She kicked him. He jumped back. They began rolling around on the ground pulling each other's hair as the other children cheered and yelled. Now Jack would never get through.  
  
"Perdon," Jack tried to push his way past, "perdoname."  
  
"Oye!" Another kid about his age was pushing his way *into* the crowd. "Oye, María!" He reached in and ripped the screaming girl to her feet and dragged her past Jack. "Mamá te matará.escuchas, María?" The boy flipped her over his shoulder and carried her out.  
  
"Lanzame, Manuel! Vete al diablo!" she screamed at what Jack figured was her brother. He laughed to himself and moved through as the crowd of children started to dissipate.  
  
***  
  
The boat from Veracruz took Jack to Cuba; the boat from Cuba went to Morocco. Havana and Casablanca were great, but Jack wanted to go to Paris. His boat out of Africa got him to Gibraltar. In Spain he wandered around Andulucia going in and out old mosques and sketching Moorish architecture.  
  
Then the next boat, which he had to stow away in for lack of money, took him to Naples. From there he hitchhiked through the country. He'd get to Paris one of these days. Meanwhile, traveling the rest of the world was definitely worth it.  
  
But now he was out of the big cities.and he was lost. By early April he found himself in the little town of Nucci, Italy. It was a little like Chippewa Falls: a bustling center of town with farms along the outside, only no factories. Alright, so that was every small town anywhere, but he liked things that reminded him of home.  
  
By this time Jack was tired and hungry. He chanced upon one of the many small farms and decided to find a meal. He plucked a big red tomato from its vine and sunk his teeth into it.  
  
"Ciao." said a voice behind him. Jack whirled around to see a beautiful girl before him. She was tall, dark, and voluptuous. She must have been a few years older than him, Jack guessed.  
  
"Ciao." Jack smiled and waved stupidly. The young woman looked at him curiously. "Buon giorno, Miss."  
  
She still just looked at him. Jack knew he might be in a little bit of trouble, but she looked rather amused. She plucked two more tomatoes off the vine and gave them to Jack.  
  
"Grazie."  
  
The girl put her finger to her lips and gave a little nod to leave. He nodded affirmatively and was about to skip off when he turned back around.  
  
"How do you say.?" he asked holding up the tomatoes.  
  
She got the idea of what he was saying. "Pomodoro."  
  
"Pomodoro." Jack repeated. "Uh.I'm Jack." he pointed to himself, "Jack Dawson. I'm American."  
  
"Americano, eh?"  
  
"Si."  
  
There was yelling coming from the house at the end of the field. She gave a look of urgency and waved him away. Jack tiptoed away, fearing the worst from the fight in the distance.  
  
The girl whispered to him as Jack turned around to look at her. "Octavia." she smiled.  
  
"Ciao, Octavia."  
  
"Ciao, Jack."  
  
***  
  
It was a stupid idea, Jack thought as he stood on the edge of that same farm. There was a fight and a pretty girl. General human interest, but what made him so compelled to come back? Something was strange with the people that lived with the beautiful Octavia.  
  
It was late at night, but lo, more yelling and screaming. An older woman's voice was pleading. "Paolo, no!" Then the loud smack of human flesh.  
  
Paolo, Jack could only assume, emerged from his home with what look to be a lead pipe or something like it. "Octavia! Loren-"  
  
Octavia crossed in front of him. "Papa." she said as if the words went against her religion. He yelled something unintelligible at her and she went inside. Jack wasn't sure whether it was unintelligible because Paolo was drunk or because Jack didn't speak Italian. PIt was then Jack realized why returning to the farm had been a bad idea. Paolo spotted him.  
  
"Oh shit." Paolo yelled something at him that he was sure would be unrecognizable even if he spoke Italian.  
  
Jack yelled something that wasn't English and ran for his life. He dashed through tomatoes and eggplant tearing some down as he went each time provoked an enraged shout from Paolo.  
  
Jack kept running through the field and into the night. Harder and harder. This guy was something fierce. Whoever the hell he was.  
  
At some point Jack realized he couldn't a damned thing and it was a wonder he hadn't crashed into anything yet.  
  
Then he crashed head on into *somebody*.somebody running just as hard as he was. Their bodies repelled off each other make a V shape before their backs smacked the ground.  
  
Jack sat up in shock. One minute he'd been running for his ever-loving life, then something came full force into him.now he was just sitting and dizzy, not even thinking about the crazy man chasing him, just staring at the face across from him.  
  
The other runner sat up a moment later. "Aye." He grabbed his head.  
  
Then he looked right at Jack. It was dark, but Jack could see him just enough. He was about his age and looked a bit like Octavia.  
  
"Hey, kid, you alright?"  
  
"Eh.?"  
  
"Same here."  
  
"Better you now leave." The kid said. Jack popped up.  
  
"You speak English?"  
  
"Little. My sister said about you." P "Octavia?"  
  
The kid nodded. "What's your name?"  
  
"Fabrizio."  
  
"Jack Dawson." He put out his hand.  
  
"Fabrizio!" roared Paolo as he grabbed him by the shoulders, dropping the stick in his hand. Yep, a lead pipe.  
  
Jack sprung to his feet. Paolo shook the boy violently.  
  
"Hey, it was my fault I was the one who was stealing!" Jack pleaded. Paolo shot a stare and said something to him in Italian. Fabrizio beseeched Paolo for something it seemed, but he was unmoved. He started growling to Jack again.  
  
"Um, sir.I don't speak Italian.sorry.I'll leave." Paolo drew closer. Fabrizio desperately rambled again. Until Paolo started shouting, which led to Fabrizio's continued panicked rant, he begged and pleaded until he started screaming.  
  
"Mi difetto! Mi difetto! Per favore!"  
  
"What he said!" Jack pointed at Fabrizio with conviction, agreeing whatever he said before the other boy and Paolo told him to go away-at least he thought they meant go away.  
  
***  
  
Dear Maggs, April 10, 1910  
  
I told you all about the De Rossis last time. Well, I've found out a little more. I figured I'd tell you first because I know if I keep any thing that could remotely be construed as gossip I reckon you'll hunt me down and beat it out of me. I asked around town and Fabrizio speaks English pretty well. Here's the story so far: Paolo Corbo is Fabrizio and Octavia's stepfather. They've got another brother named Lorenzo, who is the middle child. Catalina's late husband, Giovanni died when the children were young and she married Paolo. I get the impression husband number two was not quite as kind and gentle as number one. He beats them to hell sometimes. Signora De Rossi just started walking again.broken ribs.three of them. Paolo is a particularly contemptible creature. Beats his wife and her children near to death on a daily basis it seems.more than what people usually do to keep someone in line. Lorenzo's never there and Paolo can't really take him anymore. He's about nineteen, I think. But Fabrizio's my age and takes the bulk of the shellacking to protect his mother and his sister. Now Octavia is just married the guy that runs the café in town. Too bad, she's gorgeous. Fabrizio's got this idea about running away and starting a whole new life.crazy as that sounds.  
  
He's been planning this for a while. He wants to go to America, make his way, and then send for his family. For years now he's had his hands on an Italian-English dictionary. He speaks pretty well for someone who learned solely from a dictionary. You'll kill me for this one, but we're leaving for Naples.right after I mail this.tonight.  
  
All my love to the family and take care, Jack ***  
  
"Ready go?" asked Fabri.  
  
"Yeah, pretty much."  
  
"I say goodbye to Mama first." Jack nodded and Fabri went inside.  
  
Mama came out and pulled Jack aside and spoke to him in the little English she knew. "Take care of him. He is my son."  
  
"I know, Signora De Rossi."  
  
"Don't you lose him, ragazzo mio." She gripped his shoulder. She couldn't give a good reason why, but she trusted this strange boy.  
  
"I promise."  
  
"Fabrizio!" Octavia waved from the window. Paolo was off carousing in town that night so Octavia felt free to shout to her little brother. She scurried down the stairs and out the door. "Take." She handed him a little bag of coins. She was newly married and came by the house for a visit. She intended for Fabrizio to have some of her wedding money.  
  
"Oh, no." Fabri shook his head. "No, Sorella." He gently pushed the pouch back into her hands. The whole point of him going away was to send *them* money.and also to get to America and send for them. The baby had taken it upon himself to save the family and give them a new life.  
  
"Si, Fratello."  
  
"Lorenzo?" Fabrizio asked, hoping his brother was not wandering aimlessly on the night he would leave Nucci indefinitely.  
  
Both his mother and his sister hung their heads. No Lorenzo would not come.  
  
Fabrizio sighed. "Arrivederci, Mama. Arrivederci, Octavia."  
  
The women embraced their boy in a final farewell, believing that things would turn out all right in the end.  
  
***  
  
Somewhere near Lyon, one month later  
  
"I think prefer Rome to Naples." Fabrizio De Rossi gripped the rails outside the moving train, letting the sun hit his face. For the first time since he was a little boy, since his father was alive, he was beginning to feel free again.  
  
"Venice was good, too," his friend, Jack Dawson nodded, "what was the name of the Abbey we had a sword fight and the brothers tossed us out?"  
  
"Monte Cassino?"  
  
"That's it!" Jack's eyes lit up.  
  
Fabrizio laughed. This crazy kid wanders onto his family's farm one day and from there proceed to turn his life upside down.  
  
"So Paris next, eh?"  
  
"Paris next. I can't believe, Fabrizio, we're going to Paris. Do you know how long I've wanted to go to Paris? And Montmartre, that's the center of the Bohemian Revolution. We could live there. Two guys from far away coming to be a part of it all.what are you thinking about? What do you wanna do when we get to Paris?"  
  
"I just thinking about French girls." he smiled.  
  
"Yeah, French girls." Jack thought distantly, his thoughts wandered again to Judy. He wasn't sure if he'd ever go for the stereotypical French girl. Walking sex seems like anything two seventeen year-old male virgins could want.or any male for that fact.but he could never quite get over Judy. She'd probably found some other guy. Tobey or Milo? Who knew? And Fabrizio's sister.well she was married. Falling in love wasn't necessarily on his mind, but he always wanted a girl who was something more than even a nice girl. Maybe he and Jude weren't meant to be, but he knew they were both meant for two other pretty amazing people.  
  
***  
  
"I think I'm going to keel over and faint." Jack and Fabrizio were now walking through the streets of gay Paris.  
  
"Well, your life is complete now." Fabrizio smiled.  
  
"This is PARIS! My whole life, Fabri.PARIS!" Jack waved his arms up and down.  
  
"With Parisians that speak Francese and everything."  
  
"I know! It's like something out of an Emile Zola novel."  
  
"You never read any Zola."  
  
"Someday I might."  
  
"You think we find actual roof to sleep under tonight maybe, eh?"  
  
"Actual roof.not as Bohemian as sleeping outside."  
  
"Jack." Fabrizio narrowed his eyes.  
  
"Alright, alright. We'll find a place to live."  
  
***  
  
On their first day in Paris Fabrizio exchanged his sister's money for francs and the boys found an apartment.  
  
"A garret! Our own little Bohemian garret with no breathing room!" Jack flew up the ladder of the bunk bed.  
  
"I take a nap. Try not to piss your Bohemian pants from excitement. I'm below you remember."  
  
"Happy you finally get to sleep in a legitimate bed?"  
  
"Yes.but I can't believe you get top bunk." He kicked the bed playfully.  
  
***  
  
A week later the boys set out to find work. Jack found a guy whose father owned a little café. He and Fabri were welcome to wash dishes during the day. Unfortunately, two heads are not always better than one and they lost the address.  
  
"It's Rue de Apoil." Jack frowned.  
  
"But quoi numero?"  
  
"One with three digits."  
  
"This is beautiful, Jack."  
  
"We'll find it, we just gotta hope Jean miraculously shows up."  
  
"Wait it was 100-something, right? Across from a jewelry shop, no?"  
  
"But there are three jewelry shops on this block." Jack bit his lip.  
  
"I guess we just go in and knock on everything across from a jewelers.?"  
  
"Yeah. Let's try." Jack squinted around for a jewelers' and looked across the street, "that one."  
  
The two friends walked across the street and knocked on the door.  
  
"This would help if we could read Francese." Fabrizio acknowledged. This place seemed more like a brothel than a café. *A brothel,* Fabri shook his head. What a silly thing to think.  
  
Jack knocked again, harder this time. "Hello? .Let's go inside." Fabrizio nodded, they went inside "Hello?" They went upstairs and passed by an open room. A girl wearing an orange wig and lots of face powder nodded seductively at the boys. A man came up behind, snaking his arms around her and kissing her neck. She laughed.  
  
"I foresaw doubt in it before." Fabrizio started, Jack nodded slowly. His English was still weird sometimes, but maybe not as bad as Jack's Italian. "Jack, I think we're in a brothel."  
  
"I think we are, too."  
  
"I think we should leave now."  
  
"Yeah.'Farm Boys in a Brothel', Fabri, I think I just thought of a name for my masterpiece."  
  
"Very funny."  
  
Jack and Fabrizio headed for the stairs again when they found themselves.airborne?  
  
"Oof!" They each landed face first on the floors. Less than a second later something came crashing in front of their noses. 


	24. Ragazzo Mio

The same object again came crashing in front of Jack and Fabrizio. Fabri flipped from his stomach onto his back.  
  
"Aye!"  
  
"Holy shit!" shouted Jack trying to grab onto Fabrizio's arm has he leapt back to the floor. Both boys fell against the uneven wooden floor again. Fabrizio winced. He came right down on his elbow.  
  
Jack looked up to see who their attacker was. It laughed. She was laughing like someone just told a joke.  
  
"Maybe if we crack our skulls open she would laugh harder." Fabri groaned.  
  
The woman, probably some prostitute so jaded by sex she had to scare people for kicks, picked up her weapon. A crutch.  
  
"Uh.je regrette.no parle."  
  
"I think it's 'parlons'" Fabri nudged Jack.  
  
"It doesn't matter.nous ne parlons pas de français."  
  
She laughed again. "Je ne parle pas d'anglais."  
  
"She's only got one leg." Jack remarked.  
  
"Sshh!" Fabrizio desparately whispered harshly.  
  
"What? She just said she doesn't speak English." Jack shrugged and got up. "And she's still missing a leg. I was just pointing out something odd that I saw."  
  
"You were the one that said you hated it when people talked about someone in front of them when they were right there." Fabrizio rose, nursing his bruised elbow.  
  
"She doesn't understand us, I'm not judging her, but I'm just calling attention to the one-legged prostitute that tried to kill us. It's an abnormality; I find it interesting." The one-legged prostitute looked on with amused curiosity. Arms crossed, but smiling.  
  
"You're an abnormality."  
  
Jack glared at his friend. ".That was a good one." He grinned.  
  
"I know." Fabri shrugged, cracking a smile.  
  
Jack looked at the woman. She was pretty-gorgeous even, not like most of the hookers they saw. She wore little if any makeup, she didn't wear a wig, and she had very normal hair, straight and brown, tied halfway up. She was svelte and fair. She put her cigarette to her lips quite gracefully. She had the most graceful, beautiful hands Jack had ever seen. Beautiful, but strong.  
  
"So, um.mademoiselle." Mademoiselle cocked an eyebrow. "Looking for café.owner by the name of Millet.on this street, er rue.café.Millet."  
  
"Ah oui, Le Petit Café d'Amies?" They nodded. "Cent vingt-trois rue d'apoil."  
  
"Oui, signorina!" Fabrizio clapped.  
  
"Merci beaucoup!" Jack jumped. "We're not unemployed! .Oh, je regrette, we gotta go about now.au revoir, mademoiselle." Jack turned to the door.  
  
"Au revoir." Fabrizio waved and began to follow Jack.  
  
"Au revoir, garcons.et.if you see Jean tell him and zee others I'll be about fifteen minutes late tonight. One of my regulars iss in town."  
  
The two teenagers stared with their mouths open. ".You speak English." Jack finally said.  
  
"Yes, I'm full of surprises, am I not?"  
  
"Perfect English!" Fabrizio piped up.  
  
"More than we can say for some people." Jack grinned.  
  
"Shut you the mouth!"  
  
"See what I mean." Why was Jack firing all the shots today?  
  
"I'm sorry, if only the world spoke *my* language. Communication would be so much easier for me."  
  
"You got a name, miss?" asked Jack.  
  
"Yes, of course."  
  
.They waited, but that appeared to be her complete answer.  
  
"Can you tell us what it is.both first and last perhaps.?" Jack asked.  
  
"Ah, yes. I am called Simone.Simone LeClerc."  
  
"Jack Dawson." He stuck out his hand.  
  
"Fabrizio."  
  
"Why do you never use your last name?" Jack asked his friend.  
  
"What you mean?"  
  
"He only introduces himself with his first name," he told Simone, "his name's De Rossi by the way," he turned back to Fabri, "people don't know you as anything but Fabrizio unless *I* tell them."  
  
"I like being on first name basis with people. And I didn't like having to use the name of Corbo."  
  
"They can still know your last name. What if someone needs to give you credit for something? What are they going to write? Just 'Fabrizio.' If ever I write a story about us everyone is going to have a last name but you. Jack Dawson, Simone LeClerc, Jean Millet, Octavia and Catalina De Rossi and *Fabrizio.*"  
  
"Aren't you boys late for Jean's father?"  
  
"Shit!" The buddies turned to each other, forgetting about Fabrizio's last name and the surrounding controversy.  
  
They waved and ran out. Simone smiled and flopped down on the sofa, sighing. The sunlight just began to pour in. It was this time of day the sun hit this side of the block. Her thoughts were dancing between Paris in spring and the funny young boys she had just met when they ran back in. Something was on their mind.  
  
"I speak German, too." Simone answered.  
  
Jack, about to speak, paused in a moment of confusion. "No, what are the names of 'the others'.Jean and your other friends."  
  
"Pierre and Marie.zere a couple.Pierre Bonaparte and Marie Auguste." she winked at them, "a few others show up, too.all very friendly and fun, except for zee Austrian, stay avay from him."  
  
"Alright thanks, see you later I suppose." Jack nodded and they left. "See Fab, last names!" Simone heard as they ran out.  
  
"Fab? Don't call me 'Fab'!"  
  
Simone grabbed her crutch and scurried to the door. She called down the stairs. "Wait!"  
  
Fabrizio and Jack Dawson looked up at a panicked Simone LeClerc. Her question seemed urgent.  
  
"I only have one leg?"  
  
***  
  
The boys washed dishes and swept floors at Le Petit Café d'Amies. It was rather dull work, but Jean's father was pretty easy going and the pay was enough. After work ended at 8 they joined the others for dinner and nights on the town.  
  
June 1, 1910 Dear Em, You wanted to know about me and Fabri's new friends. So here's the run down: Jean Millet-he's 16, naïve and shy with scruffy black hair, think of him like a skinny Milo. His dad owns the café. Then there's Marie Auguste and Pierre Bonaparte-no, he's not sure if he's related to Napoleon. I'm not too sure; he's kind of tall and lanky like me, and has no goals of world domination. His only goal is to marry Marie. They're 18 and have been engaged for a year now, but they don't have enough money for a proper wedding or a household. Marie's very pretty. She's got perfect peach skin and rosy cheeks, a round face with small features, tiny hands and feet, and soft, curly hair the color of cherry oak wood. Then there's Simone LeClerc. She's about thirty, brunette, and I swear she has the loveliest hands I've ever seen. She usually looks like a gypsy, wearing a bandana in her hair and big hoop earrings. She's really funny- and she's only got half of her right leg. Good thing she's a lefty. I'm not joking. I'd tell you the reason for the leg, but every time it come up she gives a new story. She has one leg, grew up on the streets of Paris and has never left-but she speaks fluent English and German. Most of the people 'round here can speak some English and sometimes German. But Simone speaks them both very well. To round it off she's got a very interesting profession, but I can't tell you what it is till your older. Love, Jack P.S. I think that Sonny kid likes you.  
  
July 14, 1910 Dear Jack, I'm eleven! Say Happy Birthday! Jack, I know what a prostitute is. Jesus. Do you think I'm that naïve? I'm *eleven*, not some child for Godsakes. I'd have more to say in this letter, but I've been pretty much grounded for the past two week. I was out being a good citizen and supporting the Giants whilst a God damn Highlander dared to bring in two runners. I threw a rock at him and called him a cheating shit. If me and Mare want to go back any time soon we have to dress up as boys. We probably will. I really hate the Highlanders, I do. Oh, and now mom and dad are making me put pennies in a swear jar. I'm broke. It isn't God damn fair! I hope it isn't as hot in Paris as it is here. Love your cousin, Emily P.S. If I do find that Sonny's sweet on me I'll beat him up again.  
  
"How does she know what a hooker is? That's frightening." Jack laid his letter down.  
  
"Well, you say she curse and throw rocks at unassuming athletes, no?"  
  
"I swear, one day.she'll either save the world or destroy it."  
  
***  
  
Jack and Fabri skipped along down to the pub. It was a perfect summer night with a cool breeze subtlety floating through the warm air. It would be the life of his dreams, Jack thought, if only his family and friends back home could come to visit and his mother and father could send him letters asking if he was washing his face twice a day and shaving evenly.  
  
*Mom and Dad.*  
  
He thought about the two of them dancing in the rain and how content they were, how his whole life was so sweet and safe until two summers ago. In days where children were meant to be seen and not heard mom and dad always wanted to know what he thought and felt, when parents beating children was just a part of discipline they never laid an angry hand on him. And the other half of his family was an ocean away. His hometown was minus an entire family and his three best friends were maturing and shaping their lives without him.  
  
Then he thought of Fabrizio. Beaten, hated by a man who should have loved him, a child that had to protect the adult that should have been protecting him. He thought of Simone. She put food on her table by surrendering herself to strangers. What should be about love was about money. What should be good old-fashioned fun was about a day's labor-and sometimes shutting your eyes and pretending it's something else.  
  
"Jack!" Fabrizio woke him from his thoughts. "Hurry up!"  
  
They found the usuals waiting for them at the bar. Jean was blowing bubbles in his beer, Pierre had his arm around Marie as Marie stared into space, and Simone rested her chin on her crutch and absently played with one of her hoops while talking about something to the others.  
  
"Bon soir!" Marie smiled warmly.  
  
"Salut all." Jack gave a little wave.  
  
"You're ten minutes late, foreigners." Pierre shook his finger.  
  
"Shoot us." Fabri dared.  
  
"Believe me sometimes I'd like to take out the town, especially him." Pierre pointed to guy a little older than the teenagers across the bar.  
  
"Stupid Austrian pig." Jean grumbled.  
  
"I told you could take him if you wanted to." Pierre looked at Jean.  
  
"I don't like fighting, even if you win you still have to get hit."  
  
"So that's Adolf." Jack looked at him curiously. He noticed he had a sketchpad. He looked like a bit of a sour puss, but maybe he wasn't all bad. A fellow artist.  
  
"Oh, leave him be, Jack, if you wish to talk a Ihospitable/I oddball I suggest Madame Bijoux," Marie daintily took another sip of her water, "she'll give you her life story and buy you a drink.though I'm not sure if it's the truth, but I am sure she thinks it is." It was too anyway; Jack was already talking to 'the unpleasant one.' Marie shrugged her shoulders.  
  
"Hey there," Jack approached the other young man, "hey, I like to draw, too and I noticed-"  
  
"Leave me alone!" Adolf angrily pulled his drawings away, startled.  
  
"I think you're pretty good." Jack tried, fingering his portfolio.  
  
"Listen, just please go away. Please." Adolf put his hand up and Jack shrunk back towards his friends.  
  
"Did you see how his veins get puffy when he gets upset?" Simone asked gleefully.  
  
"Simone likes to get rises out of him." Marie said.  
  
"I don't see how you have to tweak him even more, he'll only get more deranged and more creepy. You're sadistic, Simone," Jean shook his finger, "remember how you scared Jack and Fabri when they first came here?"  
  
Simone smirked as if she'd just been flattered.  
  
After drinks and talking and laughing everyone said goodbye. Simone was on her way out, lighting up a cigarette when Jack put a hand on her shoulder.  
  
"Hey, Simone.can I ask you a favor?"  
  
Simone looked at him skeptically. "Do you want a favor or a *favor*?  
  
"Oh no," Jack laughed, "just a regular favor.you're too much.like a mother to me in way."  
  
"I don't think I'm quite like any mother you've ever known."  
  
"Alright, a very strange aunt, but can I please ask you this?"  
  
"Yes and I swear on my right leg I'll do whatever it is, my friend." She held up her right hand.  
  
"You don't have a right leg."  
  
"I have half of one."  
  
"Listen, Mone, well, you know I'm really love drawing and art.it's this is gonna sound strange, but.can I draw your hands?"  
  
"My hands?"  
  
"You've got great hands."  
  
"Zat's zee first time I've heard zat in zat context."  
  
"Please."  
  
"Yes, virgin, you have me pegged, I'll do it. Draw my hands! Immortalize me!"  
  
"Thank you so much!" he hugged her, lifting her off the ground. She crowed with glee and amusement.  
  
"Next, all you need is a nice girl." They started walking home.  
  
"Vianne." Jack declared. Vianne was a local girl that both Jack and Fabrizio had had their eyes on.  
  
"Slut! I said nice girl!"  
  
"Oh, that's not the pot calling the kettle open."  
  
"Now what did I tell you?"  
  
"Sluts are merely loose, but whores and working women." Jack repeated rhythmically, bobbing his head side to side.  
  
"Ah, my little proverbs and advice.zee best education you get can get ziss side of Paris."  
  
The two rather unlikely friends strolled home, just two elements, two little lights in a grand, bustling city. 


	25. Ragazzo Mio

Montmartre, July 1910  
  
"You must help, Jack." Jean pleaded.  
  
"It's your building not mine. You need to take it upon yourself to take action. It took Hamlet forever to take action and look what happened to him." Jack sat on the grass continuing to sketch the picnicking elderly couple.  
  
"I'm not a Danish prince, I'm a French waiter."  
  
"Adolf's not much of a fighter. He's an artist like me. He just sits up on the hill and doodles like the rest of us, even if he is a bit of sour grape.and he threw a rotten apple at me when I talked to Vianne-"  
  
"She's trouble."  
  
"Is not."  
  
"Is too."  
  
"Adolf." Jack changed the subject.  
  
Jack was about to protest. He didn't like the kid, but ousting him from Pierre, Marie, and Jean's apartment building was not exactly on his to-do list.  
  
"Alright, Dawson," Pierre sat down next to him, "you need to get that whiny artist out of our floor." Great, Jean had brought his French army with him.not that the French army was exactly a force to be reckoned with.  
  
"Hey, watch the 'whiny artist' bit.and you either have to deal with him or get him out yourselves.and why are you asking me?"  
  
"Because you are the big, tough American hot shot." Simone gave him a comradely punch in the arm.  
  
"I'm not big and tough. I'm a whiny artist, remember?" Jack half-smiled, "if you want brawns ask Fabri, he's stronger than I am."  
  
"You have good people skills," said Marie, "and you are that cute little, baby-faced boy that everyone adores." She pinched his cheek patronizingly.  
  
"Stop it," Jack smirked, "you're making me blush."  
  
It took forever and a day to get them to leave him alone, but they gave up eventually. Jean stayed the longest. For a shy kid, he was pretty persistent.  
  
"I tell you. It is a good idea."  
  
"See you tonight, Jean."  
  
"Fine. You know, I will do this myself. I don't need you." Jean started walking down the hill past all the artists seeking inspiration. Jack looked forlornly at his sketchbook. He'd been desperate to draw all day, but between work at the café he had no time. And Simone had been putting him off about being drawn.  
  
*Finally*, Jack thought and smiled sweetly at his art. "Alright, I'm back again." Interrupted Jean. *Why, God?!*  
  
"Now what?"  
  
"Can I borrow three sous? I'm taking Catherine out tonight." Jack normally would have refused, but it was not so often that Jean worked up the bravery to talk to a girl so he begrudgingly reached into his pockets.  
  
"Am I ever gonna see this again?" Jack asked.  
  
"Of course, of course.and think about the whole Adolf thing!" Jean skipped down the hill.  
  
Jack ran his through his hair as the summer wind blew in his face. Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky had a feeling he was in for a long week.  
  
***  
  
Manhattan, That same day  
  
It was a blazing hot day in Midtown and it was getting even hotter on Tenth Avenue. And all because of an eleven year-old.  
  
"FREE MANHATTAN!" Emily Dawson hollered, standing on a soapbox. She had been screaming that for that past twenty minutes whilst rambling about oppression and dictators. She hopped off her box and left when she got bored.  
  
"You had a bit of crowd there." Her best friend, Mary McBride smiled.  
  
"I know. I didn't even know what I was talking about! It was amazing!"  
  
"I don't know. But protesting in the street and shouting and all that always seemed kind of self-centered and obnoxious, even if Maggie and Joe say it's a sign of a healthy democracy."  
  
"Eh," sighed Em, "I was hoping for a riot or something, but maybe next time."  
  
"Riots are fun," Mary nodded thoughtfully, "I still say you're crazy though."  
  
"My dad said that H.G. Wells said that moral indignation is jealousy with a halo.whatever that means."  
  
"Your dad knows a lot of quotes."  
  
"Yeah, especially Oscar Wilde."  
  
***  
  
"You think we win?" Fabrizio twirled a bat, ready for some baseball in the park.  
  
"What are you kiddin' me?" laughed his best friend, "Simone has one leg and Adolf's crazy."  
  
"You still taking them up on that offer to kick him out?"  
  
"No. I think Jean needs to learn to take his own initiative. And just because I'm American doesn't mean I'm trained in bar fights. I grew up on a farm with my dad teaching me how to fish and my mama fussing with my hair. Don't those four realize they're the tough city people.then again Emily grew up with me, she's tough.but she's crazy."  
  
"Are we starting this thing?" Pierre hit Fabrizio in the back.  
  
"Oui! Let's go!" giggled Marie, who came skipping up behind them. Cherry wood hair, rosie cheeks and all.  
  
"Nice uniform, Marie. Professional?"  
  
"Marie in a skirt, extra points for team Jack, Fabrizio, and a few others." Fabrizio whispered to his best friend. Jack nodded mischievously. Baseball in a skirt. Who would've thought?  
  
"Mmmm?" Marie inquired.  
  
"Nothing." They laughed.  
  
"Laugh now." Pierre smirked.  
  
"Baseball is an American sport. You're in my country now, boy." Jack stared him. He was now in his baseball frame of mind. It was time to take out the trash.  
  
***  
  
"This is a farce." Jack looked on in disbelief. Sure enough they were winning.because the other team either lacked skill or general knowledge of the game.  
  
Marie threw like the girl she was, but she could hit all right. Unfortunately, she kept running to third after each crack of the bat. That and her skirts kept dragging her down.  
  
"Other way! Other way! Go to first! First! Go to the right!" Jack shouted.  
  
Every time Adolf struck out or messed up in any way shape or form he threw a fit.  
  
"Nein! Nein!" He would throw his mitt to the ground.  
  
"Get over it!" Fabrizio shouted. "Stupid German." He said quietly to Jack.  
  
"He's Austrian."  
  
"He feels more German. More crazy."  
  
Then there was Jean, who was on Jack and Fabrizio's team. Jean picked flowers in the outfield and played more like a girl than Marie.  
  
"Like this. Hold the bat like this. Choke up more. It's not a dainty loaf of pastry, Jean. It's a baseball bat." Jack moved Jean's hands farther up the bat. "It is a large, wooden baseball bat. It is a powerful, manly instrument that you will use to swing the shit out of that ball." Jack shook his fists for emphasis on every word. "Tell me you can do this, Jean."  
  
"Oui! Oui! Je peux!" P "That's the spirit, kid!"  
  
Laurent Guerin pulled back and delivered a pitch.Jean swung with all his might. He spun around and hit himself square in the behind with the bat, and fell awkwardly to the ground. Laurent had a lousy arm; the ball went a few two feet over Jean's head.  
  
"Bastard." He whispered weakly.  
  
"Jean! Jean!" Fabri ran over to help up his poor friend.  
  
"You alright?" Jack asked.  
  
"Right in the ass! Brilliance!" Simone roared as Jean lay on his stomach.  
  
"I didn't think that was humanly possible!" laughed Pierre.  
  
"Were you two born this sensitive or did you have to practice?" Marie looked at Simone and Pierre. Poor Jean was utterly crushed.  
  
"I'm sorry, buddy."  
  
"I want to go home."  
  
Jack shook his head and looked mournfully over at Fabrizio.  
  
"The French can't play ball."  
  
***  
  
"I can't believe we left a game unfinished." Jack sighed.  
  
"I don't know about you, but I couldn't take no more."  
  
"Yeah, I guess.the baseball gods won't like this."  
  
"Do the 'baseball gods' like your cousin trying to put a curse on the Highlanders?"  
  
"I don't think it's possible to curse the Highlanders. I just don't feel it ever happening. Maybe there could be a curse on the Red Sox. I could see that."  
  
"I'm going to have to get L'America just so I can know these teams you talk about."  
  
"Today, *L'America* turns 134. Back home there's fireworks going off everywhere. July 4 is just about the best holiday next to Christmas."  
  
"You take me to see the fireworks one day?"  
  
"Absolutely, I'll buy you a frankfurter and some ice cream, and maybe even win you a bear."  
  
"Is touching, but I saw the drawing of your aunt. She's much cuter than you. You're a bit scruffy."  
  
"What are you saying about my aunt?" P "Nothing! Nothing! It's what I'm thinking about her that should make you mad!"  
  
Jack whapped him in the back with a mitt, laughing.  
  
"I'll whip you, boy." He said in his good ol' boy voice.  
  
"Quit staring at me like I broke it off with you." Fabri jabbed him in the arm. "But you know.when that cousin of yours gets older." He smiled mischievously.  
  
"That's it!" Jack hollered and he ran after him down the street.  
  
Jack caught him and jumped on his back. Fabri turned him around into headlock, rubbing his knuckles into his hair.  
  
"Not as bad as all the things I could do to your sister!" Jack freed himself and gave Fabri a shove as he ran down the street.  
  
As the two inseparables bounded home, hollering and guffawing they were passed by a certain flaky, blonde tart that went by the name of Vianne. They both turned their heads to watch her go by, shaking her behind from side to side. Then they pretended that they hadn't been looking and silently resented the other.  
  
It is often a rule of such best friends to never let a woman come between them. Unfortunately, rules are meant to be broken. Especially if they're names were Jack Dawson and Fabrizio De Rossi.  
  
With Vianne, Adolf, and a few new evils building, the next month would become explosive. 


	26. Ragazzo Mio

"What do you mean you don't have a birthday?"  
  
"Jack, you're completely naïve." Simone huffed. He was testing her patience.  
  
"How old are you then?"  
  
"About thirty."  
  
"You don't know?"  
  
"One often doesn't when you don't know your parents."  
  
"What are you doing." her thought for a moment, "August 17th?"  
  
"Pissing around during the day and then working after supper. What makes it different than any other day?"  
  
"Good. August 17th you're turning thirty." Jack folded his arms. Why it was a rule of normal life to have a birthday in Jack's strange little world, she didn't know.  
  
Jack skipped out of the brothel like it was the general store back home. Nothing seemed to ever wave him.  
  
Simone sat back down on the old armchair. He was a persistent little devil, but he brought out the maternal instincts in her that a prostitute rarely gets to exhibit. She knew has soon as he brought up the suggestion. Simone LeClerc, the nobody from nowhere, was going to have her own birthday, like anybody really needs that. It was just fluff.  
  
***  
  
"Hey, Fabri!" Jack ran down the street after his best friend. "Hey, Fabri!" Fabrizio turned around wiping the sweat from his brow; the Paris heat was getting to him.  
  
"How can you run like that in this heat?"  
  
"I have a great idea!"  
  
"Oh, now I see." Fabri smiled. "This idea, what is it?"  
  
"We're giving Simone a birthday and I have the best idea for a present. Call a meeting together with Marie, Pierre, and Jean." Jack started walking backwards toward his next destination.  
  
"Where you going?"  
  
"I've got to do a little shopping to do so we can make Simone's present!"  
  
"Don't spend all of our money!" Fabri called out to him.  
  
"What money?" Jack put his arms out.  
  
"Exactly!"  
  
***  
  
Jack waited at the bar for about ten minutes everybody was late. He spent most of that time chatting up crazy Madame Bijoux. Everyone one else tended to keep his or her distance from her. Jack rather liked her. True, she was strange, maybe even delusional, but somehow inspirational. Everything about her was just a little bit sad, but she made him want to dream big.  
  
Jack still peeked over his shoulder through the smoky haze and dim orange light waiting for his friends, he zoned out and listened to the chatter and clanking of glasses. He couldn't wait to tell everyone about his big plan and Jack rarely passed up social opportunities, but he was starting to feel sleepy. Where were they? Late as usual most likely.  
  
"Was is this great birthday idea of yours?" Jack turned around to see Pierre.  
  
"Only you can say 'birthday' in a cynical tone."  
  
"Are telling us this idea or not? I've been building up excitement, I don't want to get disappointed." said Jean.  
  
"Alright, alright," Jack said, "what's the one major thing Simone is missing?"  
  
"Décorum." Marie guessed.  
  
"No, something that any moron would notice the instant they saw her."  
  
"Then am I right?" Marie teased.  
  
"No." Pierre, "no. That is very stupid." Fabrizio had a feeling all along, but didn't want to say anything.  
  
"See?" Jack reached down, placing some tools and a wooden leg of an armchair on the bar. "We cut this to the right size, make some other adjustments. and voila, a wooden leg. She'll get around easier and won't have as many back problems when she gets older."  
  
"Jack," Pierre put his hand on Jack's shoulder, "people like Simone don't worry about getting old. They worry about surviving."  
  
"Porquoi pas? I think we should do it. We all want to survive. Why not make life worth our while? If she learns to walk with a fake leg instead of a crutch, daily activities will become easier, and if gets to have that one stupid day a year that we all have to have people think of her a little more it might be nice."  
  
There was a long silence. Simone had no people, no birthday; nobody really knew where she came from. The streets of Paris they assumed, product of an orphanage? She wasn't a young kid with everything to think about. But she wasn't old. If she had anything she had a chance. Why give her a day just for her?  
  
"We will all spilt however much that cost and will all plan a party." Marie agreed.  
  
Jack nodded and smiled at her. Marie was always to rescue when it came to kind gestures. Right then Simone walked in. Jack quickly tossed the chair leg and tools under his stool.  
  
"Bon soir!" She waved her hand childishly. "Why is everyone so early?"  
  
"No reason." Jack shrugged.  
  
The bartender slid a glass down the bar to a customer. It spilled in his lap.  
  
"Arg! Nein!"  
  
"I can see how that connects to his lousy throwing arm." Jack bit his lip. Adolf turned around. He heard him. "Look, I'm sorry, alright? I didn't mean any harm." Adolf still looked pretty unhappy as he approached him.  
  
"You do not say that to me."  
  
"Hey, listen. What do you have to be insulted by me? I'm seventeen and I look like I'm practically in kindergarten." He took a sip of his drink trying to promote that it was no big deal. Adolf kept staring him down. Jack looked up at him, slowly and sheepishly spitting his beer back into the glass, but never losing eye contact.  
  
The bad news came when Jack stood up. Adolf was a little too closer and he jostled him a little standing up. Angrily, he grabbed Jack by the collar.  
  
"Whoa!" Jack's feet slid out from under him. He kicked and scrambled as he was lifted. "This is not good." he said to himself. Jack freed himself from Adolf's grip and shoved Adolf shoved back. Jack pushed to the ground.  
  
"Don't tempt me." Jack pointed at him and turned around, walking past his friends with open mouths.  
  
Adolf couldn't let this humiliation stand. He jumped on Jack's back and Jack came surging forward, taking a chair with him.  
  
Jack grabbed him and they began rolling around on the floor with growling and shouting.  
  
"Non, garcons!" Marie waved her arms.  
  
"Hit him on the left! He's open!" Jean shouted.  
  
"Finish him!" yelled Pierre.  
  
As swings were thrown left and right Simone and Fabrizio's heads moved with them with all matter of "oh's" and "ow's."  
  
Jack finally rolled on top of him and began punching him alternately on either cheek. Adolf jolted him off and scrambled for the door. Jack didn't run after him. He sat up on his knees with heels under his rear. He wiped a stream of blood from the corner of his mouth.  
  
"I think this battle goes to the US." Pierre turned to Jean.  
  
"Hey, Jackie, you alright?" Simone put her hands on his shoulders. Jack leaned over placing his palms on the floor.  
  
"Yeah," he said, "I'm alright."  
  
"Go home, buddy?" Fabri lifted his friend's arm gently, in the same manner Jack had always done for everyone else.  
  
"Yeah." He nodded as his friends gathered around to help him up and walk him home. Pierre grabbed the wood and tools on his way out.  
  
***  
  
After the fight Jack wasn't quite so lenient with the peculiar Austrian boy. Always shaking his head and saying "I hate that guy." Whenever someone would mention his name. Fabrizio testified to the end of his short days that he was the only person Jack really didn't like.  
  
Life carried on as normal for the next day or two. Simone, Jack, and Fabrizio spent most of their afternoons in the park. The boys would run and around and act like silly seventeen year-olds and Simone would sit on the bench and clap. She wouldn't be benched for much longer. Every night after work and the gatherings in the bar, Fabri and Jack would go home to their little garret and work on Simone's new leg.  
  
"Hey, race with us!" Jack grabbed her hand.  
  
"How? I'm not going to look like Hop-Along Hooker out there." She folded her arms laughing. "I cannot run! Impossible!"  
  
"Alright," Jack shrugged, "have it your way." He picked her up and swung her around on his back.  
  
"Put me down, stupid American!"  
  
"Ready to race, Fabri?"  
  
"You have a bit of a handicap, no?"  
  
"Just a little challenge. Some athletes do it in training."  
  
"Lifting thirty pounds I see, but thirty year old hookers is different thing."  
  
"Down! Down!" Simone cracked, pounding Jack in the back.  
  
"Ready?" Jack checked.  
  
"One." said the boys, "two.three!" They ran off. Fabrizio, who was not carrying a one hundred and thirty pound woman on his back, won the race. Jack spun around in a circle just to drive Simone crazy-who was in pain with laughter.  
  
After the park Jack went to work at the café. Fabrizio and Jean left early. Jean went off to seek out Catherine-a girl he took out that wanted little to do with him. Fabrizio probably went home to sleep.  
  
Jack was wiping down the kitchen and whistling as usual. Besides being bloodied by that sniveling little bastard it was a good week that only promised to get better as Simone's birthday approached.  
  
"Bon soir." A voice cooed to him. Jack turned around to see Vianne. She strolled over to him at the sink tossing her stringy blonde hair, and swaying her perfect hips.  
  
"Hello, Vianne." Here was girl he and his best friend had been pining over for months. He wasn't stupid. He knew what she was thinking by the look in her eyes.  
  
"I heard about your fight."  
  
"Yeah, well.I don't fight really.at all."  
  
"I heard you taught him a lesson.I heard you were so brave." She leaned forward showing cleavage.  
  
*Come on, Dawson, you've seen a pair of those before. What makes hers so different?*  
  
"Yeah, well I." She came closer. Teasingly pulling at his shirt.  
  
"We never get chance to talk much, but I see you everyday."  
  
Jack took a few things into consideration. His best friend would be angry and jealous and above all: hurt. Then he thought about the women in his romantic life. He knew at this point he wasn't going to go back to Chippewa Falls and marry Judy and live a normal life. And that girl he had thought up in his head.thinking that there was a perfect girl out there, but he knew Vianne wasn't it.  
  
But she drove him crazy! His mouth would go dry, he would begin to sweat.and something else would to start to happen.  
  
And what about his inexperience? Sure, he had messed around with girls before, but he had never gone all the way. He knew he wasn't a Wisconsin farm boy anymore. He'd been living in the big bad world now for two years. And something very good was offering herself to him. P He was a seventeen year-old boy and despite everything telling him no there was something bigger.  
  
Sex.  
  
He had a chance and more importantly he Iwanted/I it. So he let it happen.in the back pantry.  
  
***  
  
He wanted to feel bad. He was a jerk for what he did to his friend. Fabri wouldn't have done it to him. Would he? But it was an experience like none other. He had been inside a woman. For the first time since he was a young boy he didn't draw or even look at his art for days. He had found the ultimate expression of passion: making love.  
  
His next problem was that Vianne was done with him and out looking for another boy to adore and seduce. *French women,* he thought, *sometimes.* He swore if he ever got over Vianne he would stay away from French girls.  
  
Walking home a few days later. Someone tapped him on the back. When he turned around he was socked right in the face before he could see who it was.  
  
He expected to see Adolf wanting another challenge. But he found someone quite different when he got up.  
  
"What the hell did you do that for?!"  
  
"You knew I liked her, too, bastardo!"  
  
"Fair's fair! She wanted me, alright! You're just mad because you're a virgin and I'm not." He'd been hit in the face too many times this week. Sweet little Jack could only spit venom now.  
  
"I wouldn't do this to you! You betrayed me!"  
  
"I wouldn't go knocking you in the face!" Jack pushed Fabrizio to the ground. "Unless I was provoked!"  
  
"Bastardo!" He punched him again and Jack punched back.  
  
"You'd be getting a lot more of those if it weren't for me, Fabrizio ICorbo/I!"  
  
"I hate you!" He pushed him.  
  
"If it weren't for me you'd probably be dead! You're old man would've killed you by now!"  
  
"Paolo is NOT mi padre! .And you lured me away from my family and my home.you can go to hell." Fabrizio stalked away.  
  
Jack stood there, steaming. With a burst of rage lunged himself at his best friend and confidant taking them both to the ground.  
  
Fabrizio raised his arm to punch him again when someone grabbed it and ripped it away. He fell back and so did the newcomer. Only having one leg, it was hard to balance.  
  
"One of you bastards help me up!" Simone yelled. Fabrizio pulled her up and she ripped her arm from his hand as soon as she was planted and she yanked her crutch from Jack.  
  
"Sit down!" She pointed to the bench. "Maintenant!"  
  
"He started it." Fabrizio grumbled.  
  
"Hey, if you-"  
  
"Shut up! Both of you! Why would you do this?!"  
  
"Bastardo slept with Vianne."  
  
"He isn't the first young man to give into temptation, it is no crime. Two months she won't mean a thing to either of you. A fist fight isn't going to unscrew her." Jack was about to open his mouth. "And you," she pointed to him, "saying those terrible things. You're lucky for the family you had, don't pick on others who aren't as lucky. How terrible! The both of you!"  
  
Neither boy looked at the other. Their arms were folded and their faces bloodied.  
  
"And to have a friendship like you have. To give that up over some hussy. To have what you two have when I was your age, what I'd give!" She seemed hurt. "You both need to wake and realize. Either that or kill each other now.nothing is worth this.this anger against your best friend.go home and clean yourselves up. I'm not working this out for you."  
  
She hobbled off in frustration and left the boys to their own devices. The only distraction from the quiet air we're curious and appalled onlookers watching the boys who had caused such an uproar.  
  
"I-I'm sorry." Jack whispered, barely audible. Fabrizio didn't or unfold his arms for close to a minute.  
  
"It's alright.I think I get all of that off mi chest." He turned and cracked a weak smile. "You look bad."  
  
"You don't exactly look dashing and debonair yourself."  
  
"Go home?"  
  
"I guess."  
  
"A few moments ago I wanted to kill you, eh?"  
  
"Same here."  
  
"We work on the leg tomorrow? Maybe finish?"  
  
"Yeah, I think so."  
  
***  
  
The boys finished Simone's leg the next day and gave it to her at her birthday party. The party was appropriately held on the third floor of the brothel where Jack solicited every whore to be a model for him. And this time was actually not looking for anything else but art.but of course no one really believed him.  
  
The party had presents and cake and singing.Simone smiled through all of this.which she claimed before to be stupid.  
  
Simone protested the leg at first (which had a big red ribbon tied around it) but they we're able to get it on her after an hour. She agreed to try it for a while. Once she was used to it she never used to crutch again- although she still walked rather strangely. Also with Simone's usual attire of a bandana and big hoop earrings she looked even more like a pirate, earning her the nickname of "Peg Leg" by Jack.  
  
Life stayed quiet and happy, although still quirky, on their side of Paris for another year. 


	27. Ragazzo Mio

Note: This chapter contains a derogatory ethnic slur. It is not meant to offend, but used in dialogue to portray a character. In my defense, it's an attack on an ethnicity that's in my own blood.  
  
Montmartre, June 1911  
  
Jack concentrated hard. He was nearly finished with Simone's gorgeous hands. Which was even more of a blessing considering Simone had the average attention span of a toddler. He glanced up again. He was almost done.  
  
To his dismay Simone's hands had moved. No longer spread out and beautiful but both flipping him off.  
  
"Simone!"  
  
"Quoi? It looks finished to me!"  
  
"It's not. I need to add more."  
  
"You have both my hands in there."  
  
"There's all sorts of stuff I can't quite explain," he got up, "you know, shadows, lighting, it's got to look and feel perfect. It's got to be right."  
  
"What ever you say, Monet."  
  
"You know I saw him through a fence at Giverny once. It was a week before we came here and met all of you. But at the time we were trespassing on the property next door. I couldn't take my eyes off of him! I mean, it was Monet! So Fabri's pulling my legs and I'm holding on this white picket fence and I'm gripping and he's yanking so much that's he got me stretched out a foot above the ground, and he's yelling 'Jack! Jack! We gotta go-" He looked at Simone. She was staring at the table, looking distant. "Simone." she had no response, "you alright there? You don't look yourself."  
  
"Mais si. I'm fine."  
  
"Are not. You're never quiet."  
  
"I'm going to sleep now. Go home."  
  
"Aren't you working tonight?"  
  
"No."  
  
"When was the last time you worked?" Jack knew the other prostitutes were almost ready to oust their own resident matron. Simone hadn't seen a customer or brought in any money in close to a month.  
  
"Kid, go home." She said throwing on an extra jacket.  
  
"Did somebody give you something? Are you sick? Is that why you haven't been working?"  
  
"I don't have time for this.and I'm perfectly clean."  
  
Jack kept staring at her. Last fall Jack had practically started on business with drawing whores. Everyone wanted to be drawn by the cute American boy. But lately, Simone had only let him draw her hands and face.  
  
Jack was always strictly professional with the girls. And he never felt a real attraction to Simone, but he had to admit she was nice to look at. Mature artist or not he was an eighteen year-old boy.  
  
Unfortunately, he was a very perceptive boy. He was almost sure he knew what was wrong with Simone. Either way, there was something wrong and he was going to weed it out. But this, he didn't think it was possible.  
  
"What's with all the clothes, it's pretty hot out, Simone."  
  
He was talking down to her. Simone hated being patronized.  
  
"Leave me alone. I lived my whole life without a father. Don't try now."  
  
"Tell me what's wrong." He grabbed her arm as she went through the doorway. She pulled away violently slamming her back into the mirror that stretched the wall of the room.  
  
"Fine.it won't do you any good. You can't help."  
  
She stepped back slowly. First, pulling off her shawl. Then undoing her dress never breaking eye contact. She stripped herself naked. Now Jack saw.  
  
Her stomach was bulging, it was small enough to be hidden but not for long. She looked at him and tried to stare him down, but her lip started to quiver.  
  
Jack ran over to her and draped her shawl around her.  
  
"Everything's going to be just fine." he said, hugging her.  
  
"It's too late to get rid of it!" she cried, "I didn't want to go to one of those butchers! I know what happens to girls who get abortions. I've seen it, it's so terrible."  
  
"You're tough. You're gonna get through this."  
  
"I thought it wasn't possible, nearly twenty years and not once! Of course I took measures, but I always thought I was barren.and I think I didn't go because I thought I wanted it.oh, I don't know anymore!"  
  
"So you're having the baby?"  
  
"I don't have a choice now."  
  
"How far along are you?"  
  
"About five months." She whispered. Jack waited a moment to think of his next question.  
  
"And do you have an idea of who the father is?"  
  
"Ugh!" she wailed, "it could have been anybody! Anybody! Sometimes I see three men a night!"  
  
"Okay, okay." He rubbed her back. Are you keeping it?"  
  
"No child deserves me as a mother, not with what I do, not with where I live. But an orphanage? I'll tell you what those are like, what happens to those children.I should know."  
  
Jack thought for a moment. Simone was thirty-one, or at least they estimated so, she wasn't old, but she was getting older. She had maybe a decade or so. After that, no one would want a washed up, old whore. No one would pay for that. Perhaps she'd just fade away and find some other form menial work that was not so demeaning. He always thought she was better than it all anyway. It was time he told her.  
  
"What if you didn't live here anymore or weren't a prostitute?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"What if you moved away and started a new life?"  
  
"What if I said I think you've been drinking?" She smiled weakly. She didn't want to admit but the idea seemed wonderful. Hope for the first time in her life. But it was unrealistic. But then again.who was she looking at. The boy had lived such a different from what he first knew and he traveled so far from America.but a child? Another person's life? Who would put that in the hands of Simone LeClerc?  
  
***  
  
Meanwhile across the Atlantic.  
  
Miss Clement's Academy for Ladies Albany, New York  
  
The Academy had newly passed sport requirements much to the dismay of some of the girls and the more reserved families. Despite the improperness and young ladies engaged in extensive exercise all they were all thankful to be outside on such a beautiful spring day. Well, most of them were thankful.  
  
"I can't believe we have to do this! I'll cut my hands to bits!" Victoria Sinclair looked down mournfully at her bow and arrow.  
  
"A modern lady is well versed in sports as well as literature and manners." said Samantha Parkington, who mournfully repeated her knowledge of the system.  
  
"Anyway, I can't believe we're graduating in two weeks. I'm so excited!" Vickie squealed.  
  
"Yes, then we get to sit pretty until out knight in shining armor sweeps us off our feet." I said sardonically.  
  
"Only you can be cynical about such things, Rose." Vickie shook her head.  
  
"I'm exceptional that way." I answered.  
  
Sam shrugged. She grew up in a well to do, but liberal family. Her aunt was a suffragette. For that, and the fact that her family was not a big name and she didn't have the endless wealth as most of the other girls she was slightly alienated.  
  
"Why so glum about graduation? We're moving on." said Sam.  
  
"If we were boys we'd be going off to bigger and better things maybe, unless we were just expected to do what our fathers had already done.but us, we'll get married, host parties and punch out babies-"  
  
"You don't have to be so graphic." Vickie said. I knew the phrase 'punch out babies' would make her uncomfortable-that's why I used it.  
  
"Like I said, we don't have anything to look forward to except no more endless boredom in classrooms."  
  
"What do you care? One of us is going Radcliffe." Vicky glared at me.  
  
"I think it's doubtful."  
  
"I thought you got in." Sam raised an eyebrow.  
  
"That isn't the only factor in my going." I wasn't stupid, as much as they tried to keep it from me, I knew about the company. College wasn't in my future.  
  
"Yes, we know about your father and Nathan Hockley. What a great looking couple of sons!" Vicky giggled.  
  
"Holden is my best friend and I've never met Cal. Where do you get your ideas?"  
  
"Holden is terrible. He's so.offensive." Vickie sneered. "Cute but so offensive."  
  
"Why do you think he's my best friend?"  
  
"You'll marry Cal. I know your parents." Vickie said. "Besides he's quite a catch."  
  
"He's quite a looker, but he and Holden don't get along."  
  
"Stop siding with Holden," she said 'Holden' with disgust as if the word tasted bad, "I think you're in love with him."  
  
"I'll have you know-"  
  
"Are you ever going to shoot that thing?" Sam interjected before something started.  
  
"I'm trying to concentrate, but I can't with Vickie's jabbering." I glared at my cousin. She could be such a ditzy little blonde sometimes.  
  
"Sorry!" I released my arrow and missed the target. Not only did I miss it, but it hit a tree ten feet away. When I went to retrieve it we found it embedded in the trunk. It was so far in there was no pulling it out.  
  
"That's impossible!" Vickie gasped.  
  
"So much strength, but no direction. Sometimes I wonder if it's a metaphor for something." Sam tapped me with her arrow.  
  
"It just means I'm not cut out to be an archer." I said resentfully.  
  
I hated her sometimes. I wasn't used to people like Samantha Parkington when I was sixteen and angry. She believed in me.  
  
***  
  
France  
  
"So what are you going to do?" Marie, now officially engaged, asked her pregnant friend.  
  
Simone looked at Jack. They hadn't discussed anything since the day she told him in the brothel studio.  
  
"I'm leaving."  
  
"Leaving what?" asked Pierre, "the business? Montmatre?"  
  
"Paris."  
  
"What? Where will you go? What?" Jean was bewildered.  
  
"One day soon the lot of you will grow up. I need to as well."  
  
"You talked her into this, no Jack?" Fabrizio knew him too well.  
  
"I just said what I thought was right."  
  
"I wouldn't sell my child.and I'm not going to sell myself anymore."  
  
Pierre spit his drink back his into his glass.  
  
"You're keeping it?!"  
  
"I dream of the day you say that about our first born." Marie looked out into the distance. Everyone looked at Marie, distracted for a moment by the predicament of the mother whore. She never made a cynical comment in her life. "You stay with him for long enough," she nudged Pierre, "it rubs off."  
  
"I bought a wedding ring and after the baby is born I'm leaving on the cheapest ticket to a countryside ville. I'll change from Mademoiselle to Madame. I'll be a poor, respectable widow. No more sleeping with strange men for money. It's no life I would give to anyone else. It's amazing what people will tolerate to live. I started selling my body and love when I was twelve because I was starving. I should have been outside playing, barely evening thinking of boys. I'm done with it all. I'm not quite used to it, but I don't miss it.and I don't walk away from my life. Now I've got to give my life to someone else and I'm fine with that.so Pierre, you asked me if I was keeping it."  
  
"We're all with you." Jack nodded.  
  
"You'd all better be," Simone smiled, "I'm not one to cross lightly." She put her hand in the center of the table. Everyone joined her.  
  
"One for all and all for one, eh?" Fabri laughed.  
  
"We're like the six musketeers!" added Jean.  
  
"Seven!" Jack winked at Simone.  
  
***  
  
Philadelphia, October 1911  
  
"The Earl of Leicester, I presume." I strutted out in full Elizabethan garb, actually in full Elizabeth garb, ready for a grand costume party on All Hollow's Eve.  
  
"Your Majesty." said my partner in crime, the young Mr. Hockley held out his hand.  
  
"I think the others will be a little put off that we have such complicated costumes.and not fancy masks or stupid little peacock headdresses?"  
  
"You've got the hair, you've got the attitude, your father's name is Henry and your mother's like Anne Boleyn. Go wild, Queen Elizabeth!"  
  
I couldn't help but smile at him. Unfortunately, this wasn't the young Mr. Hockley who was courting me.  
  
"I think we also may be in trouble for dressing up as Elizabeth Tudor and Robert Dudley. It's a little suggestive, don't you think?"  
  
"Why we look like them, act like them, know each other under similar circumstances." He sat next me. I knew he might try to kiss me. I didn't want to admit I wanted him too. I also didn't want to admit I might be developing a soft spot for his older brother-something he'd never forgive me for.something he didn't forgive for. But it was also something I couldn't help and something that needed to happen if I was going to survive my inevitable marriage to him.  
  
"We're going to be late," I said breaking the intimate moment, "they're expecting us." I gathered up my things and Holden's arm and went out the door.  
  
Everyone looked a little offended at our blatant eccentricity. I thought I hear my mother curse under her breath.  
  
"Took you two long enough." Cal smiled as we came sweeping down the stairs. It was a little patronizing, but I ignored it and took his arm. "Your Majesty." He bowed low and laughed.  
  
Holden silently fumed.he stole his line. I pretended to notice. For once in my life I had regularly been avoiding starting trouble. Holden flashed me a dirty look.  
  
My mother sneered and my father didn't notice a blessed thing as usual. I pulled myself tighter around Cal. Sometimes he was my only ally.  
  
***  
  
Simone walked home holding her generous stomach. It had started to rain pretty hard a few minutes earlier and now it was thundering with lightening. She wiped her brow and cursed. It was a little warm for October, but she was starting to get cold and home was a few blocks away.  
  
She had been at work all day in a terrible little bar populated by sailors to make ends meet. Not too many people knew she had been a pro. But she was harassed all the same because she was a woman.and an unwed mother at that.  
  
She didn't know what to do anymore. The baby was due soon, but there was no way to tell exactly when it was conceived. She never saw a doctor. Money was running out; Simone was burning out.  
  
Then pain. A terrible pain. She looked for a place to sit down but couldn't see through a few violent flashes of lightening.  
  
"Ah!" She winced and grabbed her middle. "Sacred Bleu! Merde, merde! Non, non!"  
  
It was happening and there was no one there to help. There was no one. She had to get back to home. She couldn't have the baby alone in the street. She thought she was going to die.  
  
It was only four more blocks to home; she could make it. The contractions weren't very close together. It would be hours until the baby came. She groaned at the thought of hours of labor.  
  
She made it another block without further contractions. By the time she got to the post office she felt a warm flow between her thighs. Great, as if she wasn't soaked enough her water broke.  
  
She rested for a moment, leaning up against the Poste Montmatre building. From her standpoint she could see the Moulin Rouge through the rain. She had a many a time snuck in there, both when it was nightclub and recently after it had converted into an opera house. She took 'her boys' Jack and Fabrizio to see a few shows.sneaking themselves in of course.  
  
But now everything seemed to be ending. She pushed herself off of the wall and continued down the street. It was become painful to walk to extra, awkward weight had been a strain on the wooden, now it was becoming unbearable. It hurt so bad.  
  
Suddenly she heard footsteps and splashing puddles. People! Was she saved?  
  
Faces came out of the rain. They studied her for a moment. Her brown hair was matted against her faced and her clothes soaked to the bone. Her expression was that of a permanent wince.  
  
"Hey, it's us! Hey, Simone!" Jack grabbed her arms.  
  
"Che? Where were you? It's almost three!" Fabrizio threw her arm over his shoulder.  
  
"Just get me back home! A-ah!" she cried. After it was over she straightened herself out.  
  
There was another great flash of lightening in the sky and the three of them looked up.  
  
"Some night, eh?" said Fabrizio softly.  
  
Jack got under her other arm and helped her back home, which took another twenty minutes. They walked up the narrow steps of the brothel to which a few whores and customers grew angry at the unpleasant cries of pain. One such girl, Françoise came out with miserable looking young sailor.  
  
"Hey, you can't do that here! There are few things I won't listen to and this-"  
  
"Go to hell, Françoise." Jack said as he and Fabri carried past her a very flustered Simone. Françoise closed her mouth and grabbed her sailor's arm and hid back in the room. No prostitute in the brothel of the Putain Belle challenged Simone. She was the matron and tough as nails. Although now she'd been reduced a screaming wretch.  
  
Fabri and Jack carried her through the tiny hallway of the corner room and placed her on the bed. She leaned her head against the wall. For the first time she thought how she hated the color on the walls, sort of a dingy blue, similar to how her dress looked now only darker.  
  
"Arg!" she growled, "get this thing off me!" She wiggled her right leg. Fabrizio climbed over to unscrew the wooden leg, trying not to hurt her as he reached over, the right side of the bed was up against the wall.  
  
Jack went to close the door when he saw another one the pros walk by. She was a little fat, pulling off a bouffant wig.  
  
"Alo, Claude!" he whispered urgently. "Are you busy?"  
  
"Non." She sensed Simone was in labor.  
  
"Get Pierre, Marie, and Jean, sil vous plaît!"  
  
"Oui, tout de suite, Jacques." She patted him on the shoulder and scampered down the stairs.  
  
Jack closed the door and came to check on things. Fabri was crawling around and tearing apart the armoire looking for extra pillows.  
  
"How we doin'?" Jack asked.  
  
"We're fine, where are the others?"  
  
"Coming."  
  
"Oh, why does this hurt, you think of all things that have been put up the hole, the baby would've just slipped right out months ago."  
  
Jack and Fabri just stared. Simone shrugged. You can take Simone out of the brothel, but you couldn't take the brothel out of Simone.  
  
The others came faster than the lightening outside. Within five minutes they were standing in the room-with extra pillows.  
  
"Where did you get those from?" Simone asked as they placed them behind her back.  
  
"Claude stole them from Françoise." explained Jean. Simone grinned, she hated the sniveling little waif.  
  
"Good old Claude." Simone smiled.then winced. "Ah! Another one!"  
  
Marie moved in front of the bed and began to free Simone of her pantyhose and underwear, and pealed back her sodden dress from her legs.  
  
"What are you doing?!" Jean shrieked in disgust.  
  
"How is the baby going to come out?" Marie turned around. "My mother's mid- wife, M. Millet, I know what am I doing. Jack, get a tub and fill it water. Jean, go find some dry clothes, Fabrizio stay here for a moment, everyone wash your hands!" She leaned over to her fiancé, "we need to keep Jean out as much as possible. Poor boy will be traumatized."  
  
"Oui, amoureuse." He kissed her on the cheek.  
  
***  
  
They had been there for hours. The rain had stopped at around 6:30. It was nearly 8:00 now. Simone let out another incredible wail.  
  
"Just keep breathing, you are doing great." Marie felt as if her legs were going to detach. She had been crouched there for the better part of an hour holding Simone's knees. Jack and Fabrizio were sitting on either side of her on the bed, holding her up, and holding her hands.  
  
"So much pain! Make it stop!" Simone cried.  
  
Pierre stood around pacing. Jean was outside on guard, Marie thought it better that he stay outside and not be afraid of females for the rest of his life. As the group stood now he was the only virgin. He hadn't gone beyond kissing a girl. Marie was not about to let his watch a birth.  
  
"When?! I CAN'T DO IT ANYMORE!!!" Simone screeched. Jack suddenly had a really good idea of why he stayed at Milo's house when Emily was born.  
  
"Very soon! Push harder!" Marie shouted.  
  
"Non! Je ne peux pas!" she sobbed. "Wait till it's your turn, you'll see!"  
  
From working with her mother so much Marie had seen enough so that she was not easily wavered. She ignored the idea about her own future labor, even though she knew she might already be pregnant.  
  
"You just push, amie! Very hard!"  
  
"Arg-ah!" She looked up at the ceiling and howled. Jack and Fabri didn't think they were going to be able to use their hands after this.  
  
"Push! Push now it's coming! PUSH!" Marie's voice jumped several octaves on the last 'push.'  
  
Jean stood outside shaking while Claude held his hand. He was more upset than Simone.  
  
Simone let out another painful scream, but before she finished a baby's voice wailed as it slipped into Marie's arms. Simone collapsed back onto the bed.  
  
Marie pulled the baby close and wiped the blood and muck from the little cheeks as she stood up and came around the bed.  
  
"Simone, it's a girl!" Marie smiled, half-laughing and half-crying.  
  
Simone pushed her self up with the help of Fabri and Jack, and reached out her arms.  
  
"And she's got two legs!" Pierre cheered. "Two beautiful legs!"  
  
"Ma enfante." She smiled big.  
  
Pierre came close to the bed and Jean and Claude opened the door and squeezed through the little hall.  
  
"She got a name?" asked Jack for the last time. Everyone had been curious for months but Simone would change her mind every day.  
  
"Yes, I know her name now. Evelyne" she touched the baby's nose gently. "Bonjour, Evelyne. Je suis tu maman, ma cherié."  
  
"Alright, everybody out." Marie piped cheerfully despite her exhaustion. "Give them some room."  
  
"I hope she isn't this much trouble now that she's out." Simone laughed weakly.  
  
"If she is, she's no different than her mama." Fabrizio smiled.  
  
***  
  
November 1911  
  
Pierre and Marie had married the week before and Jean had finally found a girl. A nice girl named Michelle that was about four inches taller than him, but he'd found a girl that was really worth his time and thought he was well worth hers. They were in love.  
  
Simone bought the cheapest ticket out of Paris and the dynamic duo was headed to Cherbourg en route to England.  
  
Simone checked her single suitcase once more. Most of things inside belonged to her little Evelyne who was asleep at her breast. This tiny little thing had changed her so much. She twisted her ring around her finger. Tomorrow she would arrive in town as widow. In truth she was leaving the only husband she ever knew: Paris.  
  
Jack and Fabrizio sat with them, waiting for the others.  
  
"Where are my boys? There you are!"  
  
"Does nothing wake her?" Fabri asked, gesturing to Evelyne.  
  
"Non." Simone shook her head.  
  
"Give me hug, I'm going to miss my boys when I'm gone.ah, you look like men today, all of you looked like men and woman at the wedding. I was in awe."  
  
"In awe of everyone but scruffy Fabri." Jack teased.  
  
"Shut up, you skinny bastard." He jabbed him.  
  
"Salut!" she stood up slowly to see her teenage friends and Claude. "Oh, how I'm going to miss all of you, even you new girl!" She winked at Michelle.  
  
"Merci, Simone."  
  
"Where are you going?" Marie pealed the ticket from her hand.  
  
"Bazoilles, Mme. Bonaparte." Marie blushed.  
  
"We'll miss you. And you'd better write or we're coming after you. Maybe we come visit if we ever get any money." Pierre teased.  
  
"I will write. And I'll be expecting to see all of you before I die." She pointed.  
  
"I wasn't talking to you," said Pierre, "I was talking to Mademoiselle Evelyne." He touched her hand with his finger and Evelyne gripped it.  
  
"I see who's the favorite now."  
  
"Need any help with that?" Jack looked down at her suitcase.  
  
"I carried it and Evelyne all the way from the Putain Belle. Don't worry about Simone LeClerc."  
  
Simone and Evelyne left boarded the train a half hour later. Jean wiped the tears from his face.  
  
"I told myself I wasn't going to cry!" he sniffled and turned to see the other tearing; even Michelle was a little misty-eyed.  
  
"Au revoir, Simone! Au revoir, Evelyne!" They shouted as the train pulled away.  
  
"Oh, come on!" Pierre grabbed Marie's hand and ran with the train, the others followed.  
  
"Bye!" shouted Jack, jumping and waving.  
  
"Ciao!" yelled Fabrizio.  
  
"Miss you!" Everyone called to her as she waved.  
  
Simone might just have been crazy. She left home with one leg and a baby to raise all by herself. But if anyone could take a challenge it was Simone LeClerc.  
  
Jean married Michelle that winter. They had two children, Jean-Luc and Juliette. Marie and Pierre had many children; the first one, René, came that summer, followed by Paul, Tristan, Nathalie, Zoé, and Danielle.  
  
The Bonapartes and the Millets lived raised their families in Paris and each survived both world wars.  
  
Simone lived in Bazoilles till the end of her days and never married. Evelyne grew up there, and got into trouble like her mother before her. And was always enchanted by the story of her birth and her mother's friends in Paris. They went through a rift when Evelyne married a Jewish student from Poland by the name of Abe Meisels and Evelyne learned of her mother's past. But they forgave each other with the birth of Evelyne's daughter, Ester, in 1932. Evelyne's husband was always proud to agree with the young Pierre, Evelyne had two beautiful legs.  
  
As for Jack Dawson and Fabrizio De Rossi, who left Paris two days after Simone and Evelyne.they're stories are somewhat different.  
  
***  
  
After the boys got into Southampton they went straight to London, up to Stratford-Upon-Avon to see Shakespeare's birthplace, to Ireland and traveled up and down the island for a month, then to Scotland through Northern England and Wales, and they eventually found themselves back in London come March.  
  
It felt good for Jack to have the wind back in his hair, despite leaving Paris, which came to be home, and his other friends, who came to be family. But this vagabond was ready for home. He had been wandering for over three years now.  
  
On the train back to London, he suddenly felt inspiring and whipped out a sheet a paper and began madly drawing. He remembered being home again in Wisconsin, watching his parents dance in the rain. He saw his mother smiling. He loved how she smiled; it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.  
  
He was finally ready to draw it. Their deaths would always hurt, but he would no longer be haunted. He closed his eyes and thought.  
  
It was the second and last time he had matched words or fists with Adolf.  
  
"Poor, stupid orphan," Adolf mumbled in rebuttle.  
  
Those words cut through Jack like blade. He was no orphan.  
  
"My parents raised me, bastard!" He lunged for him, losing all sense of control. "I knew my parents!" he became wild now, "my parents loved me and brought me up, don't you forget it." he gripped his collar.  
  
"Get off, you'll kill him!" someone shouted.  
  
Those days were over now. No one would shake him with that. He wasn't sure what did it. Simone becoming a mother. Knowing he'd be home soon? Time, perhaps?  
  
The sleeping Fabrizio woke to discover a fresh drawing of a couple beaming like newlyweds and dancing in the rain. He recognized them from other drawings. They were Jack's parents.  
  
Fabrizio had a feeling Jack was itching for home. Save for their time in Montmatre, they never knew what came next in their travels. Would they stay in a home or a hotel? In an alley or under a bridge? What city would they be in the next day?  
  
But Fabri could sense it. When they left England it would be a ship pointing west. Jack would be going home. Fabrizio would finally reach the fabled L'America. His American friend, Jack Dawson, seemed like a bit of a fable himself.  
  
Before they left London they'd made their mark stirring up trouble as usual. Thirty some odd years later the 101st Airborne was made up of young men just like these two, but Jack and Fabrizio were never completely barred from the city of London.at least not the entire city.  
  
They danced and caroused, although Jack may have discovered sex first, at that point he had never made a repeat performance since Vianne. Fabrizio made his rounds though. Jack just kept it to fooling around and going home before sunrise. If he wasn't staying any place in particular that night he would take walks by himself at dawn while the streets were quiet and peaceful. Then he'd go find Fabrizio where he'd left him. And just in case he couldn't, the boys had a plan for anytime they lost each other to meet at Tower Bridge.  
  
One day the two stayed at a pub with a telephone and decided to have a little fun.  
  
March 1912  
  
"Hold this for a second, son." The bartender handed Jack the mouthpiece. "I'm calling cousins in Ireland, don't hang up. If you get through ask for a Frank Ryan." He walked away to address some trivial problem. Jack put his ear to the receiver.  
  
"Frank Ryan.gotcha." he waved to the bartender, "Hey, Fabri, we got through!" Fabri inched his ear closer to the receiver.  
  
"Hello!" shouted a drunken voice. It was definitely a pub. They had been in and out of plenty of pubs in Ireland. They would usually find themselves drinking and singing folk songs till they passed out. Once during "Wild Irish Rose" they fell back at the same time with their pints waving in the air. They woke up the next morning on the sidewalk with terrible hangovers.  
  
"Yeah, Frank Ryan?"  
  
"What!" shouted the voice. "No Frank!"  
  
"I think this one had too much, eh?" Fabrizio nudged his best friend.  
  
"He's Irish, there's no such thing as too much to drink."  
  
"You're half Irish, you've had too much before." He flicked Jack's ear. Jack smirked at him.  
  
"Frank Ryan, we want to speak to Frank Ryan please." Jack annunciated slowly.  
  
"No, it's his brother!"  
  
"Where's Frank?"  
  
"It's Tommy!"  
  
Jack turned to Fabrizio and shrugged.  
  
"If Frank's his cousin so is Tommy," Fabri suggested, "good enough."  
  
"Where did he go?" Jack looked around for the bartender. He looked around again with no further sign of him. "Wanna have some fun?" Fabri grinned evilly. Jack thought for a moment.  
  
"We wish to present a challenge." Jack said in a British accent.  
  
"What!" shouted Tommy again.  
  
"We have now declared war on your people."  
  
"Heh!"  
  
"Please organize all your local football teams and prepare for battle."  
  
Fabrizio was trying so hard to contain laughter he was hitting the bar.  
  
"BASTARDS!" shouted the other end of the telephone.  
  
"Forget it, call him later!" the bartender shouted from the other side of the room.  
  
"Limey bas-" Jack hung up. He thought for a moment after catching his breath from laughter, and pulled a recent letter from his Uncle Joe out of his pocket. McBride's Grocery Store had recently gotten a telephone. Joe was so excited he wrote down the number.  
  
It took a good while of waiting and talking to operators but they finally got through to the United States. Jack couldn't contain himself. In a few moments he might actually be speaking to his family for the first time in close to four years.  
  
"McBride's" said a girl's voice on the other end. He couldn't tell if it was Emily or not. Her voice had to have changed. Maybe it was his distant cousin Mary.  
  
"Uh, hi.are any of the Dawsons in?"  
  
"Yes." It was a strange question, no one ever asked for them. "Who is this.?"  
  
"Jack Dawson. I'm calling from London." There was a gasp on the other end of the phone.  
  
"For real?! Emily! Maggie! Joe!" she shouted.  
  
"Are they all there!?" Jack was almost jumped out of his skin.  
  
"Yes! Last time I checked! I'm Mary!"  
  
"Well, hello, Mary!"  
  
"Hello?" the voice on the other end was new, it was still a girl, but it sounded very young.  
  
"It's Jack-"  
  
"It's me! Jack! It's Em! Where are you calling from?! Are you coming home?! Did you get the last letter I sent you?!"  
  
"How do I answer all those at once?" He laughed, uncontrollably smiling.  
  
"You can't, that's the catch!" It was definitely Emily Dawson on the other end of that phone.  
  
"I'm in London, kid! I wanna come home real soon. We can catch a cheap ride from Southampton maybe."  
  
"Oh boy! Holy shit!" And she hadn't changed a bit.  
  
"That's the same language that gets you kicked out of the Polar Grounds, young lady" said a man's voice in the background. "What?" he said as the voice got louder. "Hello?"  
  
"Joe!" Jack cheered. The bartender, getting annoyed tried to approach Jack but Fabrizio stopped him.  
  
"Jack?!"  
  
"Yeah! I'm in London!"  
  
"How are you, boy?!"  
  
"I'm great, Joey! How's by you?"  
  
"Fantastic now that I hear your voice!"  
  
"Gimme!" yelled another voice. "Jackie, honey?"  
  
"Maggs, it's me!"  
  
"I know, baby boy! When are you coming to New York?"  
  
"Not sure! Soon!"  
  
Jack stayed on the phone with his family for a further hour until the bartender kicked him off and Mr. and Mrs. McBride kicked off the Dawsons. Jack and his family across the ocean were walking on air for days afterward.  
  
A week later Jack and Fabrizio hopped on a train to Southampton. They figured if luck came their way they'd find themselves in America in just a few short weeks. Something great was on the horizon. Jack could feel it.  
  
***  
  
April 3, 1912  
  
Now that's what I call mammoth." Jack shielded his eyes from the sun, looking up at the massive leviathan.  
  
"I'll say. They launch soon, no?"  
  
"Yeah, next week I think. What do they call it?"  
  
"Titanic." said Fabrizio.  
  
"They ain't kiddin'." Jack whistled with awe.  
  
A week later Jack and Fabrizio came to the very same dock and walked into a pub and sat down with a couple Swedes. Jack, who was a bit of card shark, turned to his comrade, and asked, "Up for a game?" And the rest, as they say, was history.  
  
Meanwhile back in the States.  
  
April 12, 1912, Central Park  
  
It was Friday afternoon and the children were thankful to be out of school for the weekend.  
  
"Alright," said Mary McBride, "racing, hopscotch, or baseball?"  
  
"Let's play capture the flag!" Sonny Andolini jumped up.  
  
"Baseball." Emily said with conviction.  
  
"Never mind, I want baseball." Sonny sat down.  
  
"Capture the flag." Emily changed her mind and looked at Sonny suspiciously.  
  
"Yeah, capture the flag!" Sonny looked at Em for approval.  
  
Mary looked over at her best friend. She'd told a thousand times Sonny was sweet on her. But she was always testing to make sure then torturing him for which Mary always scolded her. She was almost thirteen; she needed to stop beating on Sonny.sometimes literally.  
  
"Stop acting so spineless, go away you stupid guinea!"  
  
Sonny got up to leave.  
  
"Em, take that back! Sonny get back over here!" Mary demanded. Everyone else shook their heads. It was always the same with those two.  
  
Emily sighed and decided to give him a break.  
  
"Fine, Mare.Okay, Sonny. We'll play capture the flag. It's your choice.and I'm sorry I called a stupid guinea." She mumbled.  
  
"I want whatever you want, Emily.and you can call me whatever you want." His eyes brightened at the unusual kind gesture. Emily gave Mary a dirty look.  
  
One Hour Later  
  
Mary and Emily sat on a rock watching the girls in Mary's grade flirt with boys. They were so coy, but in a way that made onlookers want to smack them.  
  
"I wish we were those girls sometimes.nobody likes a tomboy." Emily sighed.  
  
"Sonny does." Mary teased.  
  
"Ew! Shut up, Mary!"  
  
"Besides, you don't ever want to be those girls. We're better than those hussy snobs." Mary shook her head. But by now men were beginning to notice Mary. She was fifteen and quickly growing into a beautiful woman.  
  
"Yeah." she agreed, "I think my cousin fell for one of those girls once, he talked about some girl named Vianne a little.I think he really regretted it though." she paused. "My only interest in Jack's love life is that he better damn well find someone I like or it's over."  
  
"It's good to see you give him standards. I think he'll find a great girl. He's just the type." Mary assured her. "Maybe he's finding her right now." she teased.  
  
"No, he might be coming home soon.and I want him paying attention to me!"  
  
"You want everyone paying attention to you!" Mary pushed her off the rock.  
  
"I knew you'd figure me out, McBride!" Emily pulled her friend off the rock and she let out a yelp.  
  
***  
  
April 18, 1912, Pier 54, Manhattan  
  
It was raining out that night as the survivors of what the paper was calling the worst maritime disaster ever. An expectant crowd waited for them as they left the Carpathia.  
  
Emily Dawson held out an empty Coke bottle, waiting for it to fill up with water again. She and Mary McBride covered her head with newspapers.  
  
"I think the ink is leaking into my hair." The newspapers had gotten soaked through a while ago. "Jesus.I wonder what happened.look at all of them." Mary watched the last of the survivors go by.  
  
"Well, the boat sank." Emily said sarcastically.  
  
"Emily, show a little respect! What if it was you or someone you loved?"  
  
"You think I don't know about stuff like that." She thought about her Aunt Hannah and Uncle Peter, but she shook it off. Her blinding curiosity and occasionally morbid personality led her all the way down here. She had dragged an unwilling Mary with her.  
  
"I'm want to go home." said Mary, "this really unsettling the hell out of me."  
  
"Alright, fine." Emily groaned. "We won't be home till one anyway at this rate."  
  
The girls pushed through the thinning crowd. Emily jostled a young woman in a man's coat and bedraggled chiffon dress. The older girl didn't notice them. But Emily and Mary caught just a glimpse of the pale face and strange expression.  
  
"I told you, Em, something very unsettling."  
  
"Hey, she's just tired quit lookin' at her." Emily grabbed Mary's hand almost running from the ghostly figure. She pulled Mary blindly through the people, and the dark, and the pouring rain.  
  
In truth something about it really bothered Emily. Something really bothered her. 


	28. Manhattan

Manhattan, February 14, 1920, 9:00 PM  
  
Nearly eight years later it was again dark and raining on the same spot from which Emily Dawson and Mary McBride fled. They feared some unknown horror, unaware that their own blood had been spilled somewhere deep in the North Atlantic.  
  
As for the strange, lifeless girl that crossed their path.she returned a jaded, hard woman. She was still lost. After she stepped off Titanic she felt the greatest consequences would befall her here.and they would, only they would come years later. And they started on a quiet night when the rain was colder and her soul was wearing thin.  
  
***  
  
By my calculations I needed to be at around Pier 94 to be in the neighborhood of destination. I looked around through the dark and rain.  
  
"Fifty four?! No, ninety-four! I want NINETY-FOUR not FIFTY-FOUR!" I hissed at the pier as if it was its fault and not my own. I was downtown when I very much wanted to be in Midtown. And then I paused for a moment. "Fifty four.Pier 54."  
  
Things became to look very familiar, hauntingly familiar. Only this time I could return home without worrying about revisiting a life I had yearned for so long to be free of. This time home was a two bedroom, tastefully decorated, entirely comfortable L.A. apartment with a fantastic view of the Pacific Ocean.  
  
However, because I'm Rose I found myself standing in the cold and the rain on revisiting a time of unimaginable suffering in my young life that could inevitably trigger some shell shock-like symptoms if I did not leave soon.  
  
On top of that it was Valentine's Day and I was alone after dumping my sweet, nearly under aged boyfriend while pining over my childhood best friend who I had I lied to about my not dying who left me crying on a hotel floor after ruthlessly sleeping with me and all the while slowly losing my grip on my entire credo which was also my promise to the first man I ever loved and wasn't quite sure if I had gotten over either and who was also the reason I was alive and not only alive but sane...much more neurotic since the War and everything else to boot, but sane.  
  
And just to add the cherry on my disgusting sundae the rain had doused my last cigarette and my lighter was out of fluid. Maybe some place was open. Maybe I needed a stiff drink.  
  
I'd miss my chances of finding an easy drink by a few months. That and I hadn't had a drop of alcohol in close to a year and I was trying to keep it that way. By the time the war ended I had finally seen too much. I took a real liking to drink after each fun, carefree day in Sunny California. I needed to wash away the rest of the darkness inside of me. I stopped when it became too much of a habit. Alcoholism was another secret and scandal of the DeWitt Bukater family; nearly everyone with a drop of Bukater blood was a silent boozer. But they were all dead now. The last surviving one went down on Titanic.  
  
That's why she found a cup of coffee and a hotel instead.  
  
***  
  
The next morning I went about catching a train to Midtown North in search of a few acquaintances. It wasn't raining anymore but it was still dripping wet the sun was beginning to break through the clouds.  
  
Coming up along Tenth Avenue I saw a store up ahead called IAndolini's Market./I I wondered if it was any relation to Sonny, Emily Dawson's boyfriend from four years ago. P Wow, had it really been four years since Columbus? I wished I were back there sometimes. It was the only time I'd felt long-term happiness since I was a little girl.  
  
The hustle and bustle of the late morning blended in with everything. Even the screams of Mrs. Andolini seemed business as usual.  
  
"SANTINO! Get off the produce!" she yelled in a thick accent. A young man of about twenty or so hopped off the oranges in front of the store.  
  
"Alright, ma, I'm goin'! .Jesus Christ," he mumbled to himself.  
  
I hustled up along street trying get to the kid on the oranges.  
  
"Excuse me," I said, "Sonny?"  
  
"Yeah." he turned around, "hey." he recognized from the train four years ago. "Rose, right? Rose.duh.duh." he snapped his fingers struggling to remember my last name.  
  
"Dawson." I helped him.  
  
"Christ, I shoulda remembered that one. I'm sorry. Here have an orange, but don't tell my ma." He tossed me one.  
  
"Santino!" his mother called from within. I tossed him back the orange and he put it back.  
  
"Alright, forget about the orange.so how you been? What brings you to New York?"  
  
"I was in California for a while, then I was over in France, then the war ended."  
  
"So I've heard.about the war ending and all."  
  
"Yes, I think we won.anyway, then I went back to Los Angeles for a year, and now I'm here, just making my rounds.that and I'm an East Coast girl, couldn't stay away for too long."  
  
"You want me to tell George you're here? I know youse guys is pretty good friends."  
  
"Oh, sure!"  
  
"He's at work right now. You can bother him."  
  
"I don't think that's a good idea. He's still with the police department, right?"  
  
"Yeah, but if he's in his office he's probably just yelling at people. He got promoted to Lieutenant. 18th Precinct."  
  
"No kidding. Last time I saw him he was just a staff sergeant." I mused.  
  
"Eh, I guess he's been with the police longer than he was the Army."  
  
"Interesting."  
  
"306 West 54th. I'll see you around for a while, then?"  
  
"I'll be around a lot, Sonny." I shook his hand. I waved good-bye and turned around on a new thought. "Are you still with Emily?"  
  
"Eh, sometimes." He adjusted his cap.  
  
"Sometimes?" This could be interesting.  
  
"We have a very interesting relationship."  
  
"Which is?"  
  
"I cheat on her, Calvert usually hurts me, then she dumps me, shuns me, I beg, we get back together and the cycle repeats. It's been that way for about a year now. One day I'll get it together and maybe marry her. But she's not Italian. My mother would shoot me." He looked around, pulling on his suspenders with his thumbs and rocking back on his heals.  
  
"Sorry to hear that. But I like the whole repetitive, destructive cycle you've worked out. What's your status now?"  
  
"Somewhere's between shunning and begging. So she's speaking to me and I'll settle for that."  
  
"Well, you work on that Sonny." I was about to leave again.  
  
"You know her dad died?" Sonny thought I should know.  
  
"Her dad what?"  
  
"Joe died. Uh, over the summer. He got cancer." He sighed and put his hands in his pockets.  
  
"I'm sorry." I felt bad. I felt bad for Emily. I had never met the man, but I owed him a story I'd never get a chance to tell him. A morbid thought came into my head. What was with this family? They must have one of the shortest overall life expectancies.  
  
***  
  
"I'm looking for Calvert." I leaned over the front desk at the 18th Precinct. It was crowded and noisy. It was early afternoon and mid-week, it seemed like I was in the middle of zoo.  
  
"He should be in his office." the Sergeant looked puzzled. It was the first time in a while a strange woman had gone looking for George. "Back that way to the right."  
  
"Thank you." I walked down the hall gently pushing past people.  
  
"No, he's not in!" said a cocky female voice on the door that said 'Lt. Calvert'. "Who am I? Do you know who your talking to?" I knocked on the door, fearing what I'd find on the other side. I couldn't see through the frosted glass. "Enter!" yelled the voice.  
  
I opened the door to see a girl sitting behind George's desk. She was leaning back with her feet on the desk with the telephone in one hand and twirling a pencil in the other. She continued to frustrate the person on the other end while clicking double tone heels together.  
  
She barely looked up at me for the first fifteen seconds. Her cigarette was resting in an ashtray and was nearly burned to the other end. The smoke filled the room. She hung up the phone and looked at me.  
  
It was none other than the infamous Emily Dawson.  
  
"Rose Dawson!" She swung her legs off the desk to get up. "Christ, I haven't seen you in four years.wait a minute," she paused, "I only met you that once didn't I?"  
  
"Just the once." I said.  
  
"Aw, hell. Nice to see you again. What are you doing here?"  
  
"I wanted to be in Manhattan again." The phone rang and Emily picked up.  
  
"Dawson." she answered.  
  
"I told you not to answer my phone like that! It's not 'Dawson's' office!" yelled the voice on the telephone.  
  
"Where are you? You have a visitor."  
  
"I'm at the front desk."  
  
Emily looked at the receiver distastefully. And hung it up. He was testing her again.  
  
"Shouldn't you be at Joe's?" George burst in. He was better shaven than I was used to seeing him. Clean-shaven, healthy, smelled very nice, too, but I tried to ignore that. It had been over a year and we weren't at war anymore. And he said 'Joe's'.I was confused. I'd just learned Joe was dead.  
  
"I'm open seven days a week full days. I'm understaffed and my main source of revenue is illegal. I took a day off. Which as the proprietress I can do. Believe or not you're not the only one that experiences stress. I'm thinking of closing Wednesdays as something permanent."  
  
"Do what you want, but don't obnoxiously answer my line, Dawson. You don't work here."  
  
"Correction: I don't get paid here. I reorganized your file cabinet by the way, bloody mess. Visitor." She pointed to me. George whipped around very irritated and stopped on a dime.  
  
"Rose? Rose Dawson?"  
  
"For better or for worse." I smirked, "uh, Sonny directed me here. I saw him outside Andolini's." I said.  
  
"Oh, wow. I'm sorry. How's California?"  
  
"Sunny and gorgeous, but glad to be back in the Northeast."  
  
"Glad to have to you back.And nothing's gone wrong yet."  
  
"What do you mean 'nothing's gone wrong yet'?"  
  
"I mean, when I bump into you either you're lying in the street, there are train robbers, or kraut artillery popping over our heads. You never come when there's good news."  
  
"Firstly, thanks for the compliment, dear friend, and secondly, I've only been hear a few hours." I hugged him. "Good to see you." I laughed. He gave me a couple pats on the back and released me.  
  
"Good to see you, too. How long are you in town for?" He held me out in front of him still holding my arms.  
  
"Until the summer hopefully.if I can find a good place.then I've got a lucrative contract drawing me back to Los Angeles in July."  
  
"On your way to becoming a star?" He sat on his desk.  
  
"Hopefully not. Just getting to do a really fun job and take home a large paycheck and it makes me very happy."  
  
"Speaking of money and places to stay." Emily piped up, "if you're willing to split a modest rent for a Ninth Avenue penthouse with a sort of Baroque period mystique.there's an opening." She had moved back to her original position.  
  
"Looking for a roommate?" I asked.  
  
"I'm in the market." She put her hands behind her head.  
  
"I could be persuaded."  
  
"Then I should warn you it's a little less Baroque penthouse and a little more congested immigrant tenement house, but the lights and water always work I swear to God." She waited for a moment. ".Scout's Honor." She held up her two fingers.  
  
"Alright I'm game. I've got to move my things from a hotel downtown but I'll move in whenever you want." P "Whenever's frigging peaches and cream." And she said that without a hint of malice. The last time someone used a similar phrase to me they were really unhappy with the last thing I just said.  
  
But I kicked myself. Why was I moving in with Emily Dawson? It was so hypocritical of me to just waltz in saying I was coming to New York because I felt like it and moving in with her just because she offered it. I had planned this for a while.I just never thought I'd be living with her. Besides, she was a little crazy.in a fun way, but the girl was absolutely crazy.  
  
That and I happily volunteered to kick back my feet and live in Hell's Kitchen after living the sweet life in L.A. Hell's Kitchen.I'd come to really learn the meaning of that very soon.  
  
"How about I get my things, bring them over today, and you people want to meet for dinner?"  
  
"Come to Joe's." Emily promoted.  
  
"I thought you were closed today?" asked George.  
  
"Well, now I'm opening it just for us. I'll bring a few more people. I'll get in the kitchen myself." She turned to me. "We can go someplace else, it's just simple stuff really. You're first day, you choose."  
  
"Joe's is fine."  
  
"Great. 299 West 53rd Street. Stop by when you get your stuff." Em got up again and grabbed her purse. "And I thought today would be boring." She rapped George on the back. "I'll go get everything ready.bye!" And with that she flew out.  
  
George and I were left to our own devices. I hadn't seen him since the night with Holden. I knew he knew. Holden and George were not only friends, but also friends in combat; essentially they were closer than brothers. God, he probably knew *details*. I inwardly cringed.  
  
"Uh, sorry about before.with all the ranting and raving." he scratched the back of his neck. "Junior gets a little out of hand sometimes, especially since." he stopped, "did you hear about Joe?"  
  
"Yes, from Sonny a few hours ago."  
  
"Shame." George lowered his head. Joe was a friend.  
  
***  
  
May 1919  
  
Joe Dawson had been sitting in the free clinic for hours. He'd been having terrible pains in his stomach for months now and he was here to visit the same damn doctor who kept telling him had bad indigestion. He collapsed the other day in his bar. And Emily insisted he go back.  
  
He knew if he was turned away again his teenage daughter would be back in there yelling and screaming. She was already turning into her mother.  
  
Maggie.Joe didn't think he'd get back on his feet after she died. When he started seeing other women a year or so later Emily didn't take it well. But after a while she warmed up to some of them and she was always helping him get ready and look sharp for dates.  
  
Despite everything, the horrible death of his brother and sister-in-law, the disappearance of his nephew, the death of his wife: one day she wasn't feeling well and had to lie down, five days later she was dead, and Mary. He knew Mary when she was just a girl.she was like a daughter to him. He and Maggie, her many times removed cousins, treated her more like their own then her mother and father. .And to die like that.and so young. And what about young Tobey Jackson.hearing of his demise? He was just down the road when he was born.  
  
Despite everything he and Emily became a great father/daughter team. They worked together to open the bar, aptly named Joe's, and made the official grand opening on Christmas Eve 1916.  
  
Since the beginning of the year they were working on a new project, after the 18th amendment they were slowly transitioning Joe's to be dry and George was always there to help.Sonny was sometimes there to help.  
  
But this stomach thing just wouldn't leave him alone. It was getting to be unbearable. Dr. Gordon finally sauntered in. It was about time.  
  
They went through the same usual routine and Joe was very anxious to get some real tests done.  
  
"Well, I don't know why you want all this stuff done, Joe."  
  
"Something's been wrong for a while."  
  
"Joe Dawson," said the doc, "great name for something." Joe rolled his eyes, "like a story character.or no wait, a ball player! Joe Dawson.what a great name for a ball player!"  
  
"Tell me if you find anything, doc." Joe hopped off the bench, anxious to get home, ignoring his doctor's career prescriptions.  
  
"Will do.Joe Dawson!" Joe walked out and closed the door, "shoulda been a ball player!" He heard on his way out.  
  
A week later he was informed that he had a tumor the size of a grapefruit and there was nothing he could do.  
  
*The size of a grapefruit* he lamented, looking in the mirror at his own pale face. How could it be? He didn't know how he was going to tell Emily.  
  
He told George first and then told her with him in the room. He was like family to both of them. When they told her she didn't cry. She didn't say anything. She just walked back into her room and closed the door. She didn't start reacting for a month or so. She had lost too much.  
  
He died that August.  
  
***  
  
I went back downtown to fetch my stuff and I rode the train back up to Midtown again. By the time I stopped in front of Joe's it was only seven and I just wanted to sleep.  
  
"Got your stuff?" Emily peered out.  
  
"Yes I do." I placed two large suitcases and two duffle bags.  
  
"You carried all that from the station?"  
  
I just shrugged. I was pretty good at dragging around baggage.  
  
"Let's go," she picked up one of my duffles, "I've got an extra bedroom and my own john, I'll give you a quick look around, but the real baby is Joe's. I'll show you around when we get back.Jesus!" she sighed picking up my suitcase, "one, you really need all this God damn crap? And two how in the hell did you carry FOUR of these, 'cause I'm God damn strong."  
  
"Want me to get that?" I never traveled light and was never going to.  
  
"Never." She grinned. The old Dawson perseverance shone through in even the most unnecessary of situations. God knows she would need it for the dinner that night. It was going to be.interesting. 


	29. Manhattan

Emily reached under the bar at Joe's. Joe's was pretty nice looking place for a bar on the seedy side of town. It had a lot of dark wood finish and the wall behind the main bar was made up of entirely mirrors, which were all decorated with a fancy trim. On the opposite side was another, smaller bar with an overhang. Toward the back was a small stage. She still had some old, dried out Christmas decorations about.  
  
We had both changed before leaving her apartment. She actually looked respectable…when she wasn't speaking. She had her hair tied back in a long, dark braid and was dressed in black, wearing a popular shirtwaist and skirt combo that was pretty common back then.   
  
I was back to wearing designer clothing, but my black and white striped Pierre de Pitoeff suit with the matching blouse, hat, and scarf were last year's news, but no one I was dining with that night noticed or cared.  
  
"I'm getting a good jass band to play a couple days a week." Emily said reaching under the bar. I sat on a stool watching her get ready. She made some soup and sandwiches and they'd been ready for almost an hour. George was late, obsessing with work as usual. Sonny was raiding the kitchen.  
  
"Does he always do this?" I asked of George.  
  
"He's more of a freeloader than I am…and that's no easy feat." She glanced at the kitchen doors.  
  
"No, I mean George."  
  
"George…" she paused, "yeah, lately." She sighed and shrugged. She dug for more soda. There wasn't much drink selection at Joe's anymore not that alcohol was illegal. We didn't say anything for a while. George wasn't the same man he used to be.   
  
Emily popped her tenth stick of Juicy Fruit into her mouth since we'd arrived at the bar. As soon as one lost its flavor she took another one.  
  
"What's with all the gum?" I asked.  
  
"Oral fixation," she said, "my dad thought he make a few minor attempts at turning me into a lady so to get me off of smokes so he got me to chew gum."  
  
"And?"  
  
"I still smoke a pack a day and am now addicted to chewing gum as well. So I guess dad failed at that."  
  
"He turned you into a better American consumer."  
  
"That he did," Em agreed, "now Philip Morris and Wrigley's are a few bucks richer every week thanks to me…Juicy Fruit?" She offered.  
  
"No, not really a big fan of fruity stuff unless its juice." I said. "I like the Doublemint better."  
  
Emily reached under the bar again and dropped a pack of Doublemint in front of me. I smiled and pulled out a stick. A crash of pots came from the kitchen. Her expression hardened like when George was mad at her. If they had been related I'd say she was taking after him.  
  
"Sonny!" she yelled as pushed open the swinging doors. "Get the fuck away from that! You're gonna destroy the entire God damn bar!" I heard from within.   
  
I got up and walked around out of boredom. I pulled my hair down from its two, tight buns and pulled my scarf off.  
  
My hair fell loose at my shoulders, my curls we're withered from being brushed and pulled back. It fell in a wavy mess and I shook it out trying to run my hands through it but it was so tangled. Sometimes curly hair could be such a pain.   
  
I looked up to see George standing in the doorway. At first he was covered in shadows but when he stepped I could see his face better. He looked at little tired when I saw him hours earlier. Now he looked half-dead.  
  
"How long have you been standing there?" I asked him.  
  
"Just a minute or so." He said softly.  
  
"You're late. You should have been ages ago." I gently chided him. I just realized how tired I sounded.  
  
"I'm here now and not I'm leaving." He was always running out when duty called lately. Emily had complained before. Even if he kept his plans he didn't keep them for long.  
  
"You promise?"  
  
"I promise." He smiled, pursing his lips. There was a short silence. Usually our silences were very comfortable. This time there was a hint of awkwardness, but it was probably the circumstances: George and work, me dropping in all of the sudden, Emily and Sonny fighting in the next room—although that last part was pretty commonplace.   
  
Emily burst out of the kitchen, both doors flying open and smacking the wall. George and I jumped. Sonny sheepishly followed behind.  
  
"Where were you?" She folded her arms. He didn't respond and just stood there staring at her. "What?" Another five second went by.  
  
"Somehow I expected profanity in that last statement."  
  
"Very funny. Sit down. I gotta reheat our God damn food." She huffed and whirled around back into the kitchen.  
  
"That's my little girl." He said putting his hand over his heart.  
  
I rubbed my face and yawned. Em sure knew when to storm in at the right moments.   
  
***  
  
Dinner was fine. The conversation wasn't as lively as would be expected. Everyone was tired. Half way through some regulars popped in, a stocky one, Pat, and a little skinny one, Jeff, both around the same age as Sonny and Emily.  
  
"We're closed guys." Emily told them.  
  
"We know," said the stocky one, "just had to stop and sit. We've been hauling these ashes since Battery Park."  
  
"Ashes?" said Emily.  
  
"Battery Park?" said George.  
  
Pat pulled out a bottle of beer that he had been sneaking under his coat.  
  
"Old Walter Ginsberg just died while he and Mrs. Ginsberg we're moving Downtown after he retired so Mrs. Ginsberg decides she wants to go back to West 55th street and pays us two dollars to go get Walt."  
  
"Walter Ginsberg died? The barber?" George seemed pretty shocked.  
  
"I know, shame." Pat nodded.  
  
"No, I was surprised he was still alive." he said.  
  
"How old is Mrs. Ginsberg?" Emily asked.  
  
"More than dirt," Pat smiled, "but the boys and Walt still had a fun trip on the train, didn't we Walt?" He patted the urn.  
  
"That's all of him?" Sonny inquired.  
  
Jeff held up another, slightly larger urn.  
  
"What crazy person trust you two with the remains her beloved and ceramic?" Emily folded her arms.  
  
"Someone as senile as Mrs. Ginsberg." Jeff said as he sat down.  
  
"And look old Walt looks great. Not a scratch on the potter—shit!" Pat dropped the urn and smashed to the ground along with his beer.  
  
There was dead silence through the room. Everyone stared at Walter Ginsberg's beer sodden ashes in awe and horror. The only motion was the blinking of eyes. Young Pat was as white as the cheap paint on the broken urn. Nobody dared moved.  
  
"Holy Jesus, Pat…" said Emily, "you dropped Walt!"  
  
"I dropped Walt…" Par repeated distantly.  
  
"Not only that but you drenched him in something you're not even supposed to have." Sonny pointed.  
  
"Nobody panic. We'll just…clean him up." said George.  
  
"How? The urns smashed!" Pat cried.  
  
"Well, gee, who did that, Newton?" Emily said.  
  
"I didn't mean to!"  
  
"And Mrs. Ginsberg knows he's coming in two urns!" Jeff added.  
  
Pat looked around for anything…anything at all that could possibly help the situation. He reached down into his pockets all he had was some change and a pack of cigarettes. He looked at us. During his silent and desperate search his eyes fell directly on me. He watched me as I thought hard, thinking about the broken urn and the muddy ashes like everyone else. When I noticed him I stared right back into his eyes, searching for ideas. Pat didn't look into my eyes. He concentrated on my right hand as I drew my cigarette out of my mouth with my index and middle fingers. I lowered it down to the ashtray and gave it a gentle flick, tapping the ashes into the tray. Pat watched them fall with growing excitement and his eyes lit up in an epiphany.  
  
"What?" I asked.  
  
Pat clenched the pack of cigarettes in fervor. "That's it! Ashes!"  
  
"Cigarette ashes?" I said doubtfully.  
  
"They don't look right." Jeff said.   
  
"Yeah, the ashes you want are a fine dust not flaky chunks." George explained.  
  
"Mrs. Ginsberg can barely see anyway. Why don't you just fill it with dirt…I can't believe I just suggested to replace the remains of a human being with dirt…" George shook his head.  
  
"We'll all be dirt eventually." I said.  
  
"Thanks for the insight, Rose." He said with a little edge in his voice.  
  
"Who's gonna help me here?" Pat lit up and was now smoking over an ashtray. "Got anything bigger than this?" he asked Emily. Jeff and Sonny joined him.  
  
Emily stood staring at them, arms folded. "Even I'm not that stupid." She said. People often mistook Emily for being immature. In simple terms she was just crazy and seldom reliable. But this she didn't see it working or a profit for herself.  
  
"This is a farce." I said looking on at the three whiz kids smoking over the ashtray.  
  
George sighed and looked around. "Are you ever going to take the rest of the Christmas decorations?" he asked Em. He gestured to the pine roping still hanging off the small bar.   
  
"Why? It keeps up the holiday spirit."  
  
"It's February. And they're brown."  
  
"Does this look good to any of you?" Pat held up the ashtray.  
  
"It still looks like the remains of Mr. Chesterfield and not Mr. Ginsberg." George grinned sardonically.  
  
"They're not Chesterfields, they're Luckies, jerk," Pat said, "shows how much you know." George, Emily, and I all exchanged looks. "Got another ashtray or a bowl or something?" he asked Emily.  
  
"I should start charging." Em walked behind the main bar and pushed open the double doors to the kitchen.  
  
Pat placed the ashtray with his still burning cigarette on the small bar and went to see if he could pilfer anything from behind the bar. "Don't even think about it!" rang from the kitchen. How did she know?  
  
"It takes one to know one, doesn't it?" George snickered.  
  
"How does she do that?" I asked.  
  
"She's one crafty little devil. She can smell profit a mile away and she can sense her own."  
  
"I never thought her much to care about money."  
  
"Profit ain't all dollars and cents."  
  
At that moment I could have sworn I heard something fizzing or some such behind me. "Do you smell anything?" I asked George.  
  
"Yeah…I do." We turned around slowly. "Son of a bitch." He annunciated perfectly.  
  
The small bar had caught fire.   
  
"Em!" we called out. "Water! Water! Get water!"  
  
George ran for his coat to stifle the newborn flames working their way across the dead pine roping.  
  
Pat popped open another bottle of beer he had behind his coat.  
  
"Don't!" I shouted.  
  
Sonny, Jeff, and I ran toward him but too late. He had already popped it open and doused the flames—which roared stronger as the alcohol hit it.  
  
"Idiot!" Em yelled running out of the kitchen and jumping over the bar with a pot of water. She threw the water at the fire but it wasn't enough.  
  
"I'm sorry I didn't know!" Pat shouted.  
  
"Now you do, asshole!" Emily growled. "Everybody get more pots!"  
  
Everybody did as she said except for Jeff who stopped behind the main bar to call the fire department.  
  
For minutes we ran in cycle filling up pot and dousing the flames.  
  
"Fill up the big pot that'll get it!" George suggested to Emily.  
  
"It'll take too long!" she yelled, still in a frustrated panic. She threw her hands up in anger. "If my bar burns down you'll be sleeping with Walt!" she pointed at Pat.  
  
"Let's concentrate on the fire, Em!" I said sardonically in a high voice.   
  
Hearing the commotion Buddy Simms from the building next wandered in. "Hey, Dawson!" he called.  
  
"WHAT?!" Em and I shouted as we whirled around.  
  
Buddy backed up, confused—by the fire and by two people answering to Emily's name.  
  
"What's takin' George so long?" Sonny asked.  
  
George came out single-handedly carrying the largest pot Emily had full to the brim. When got in front of the burning bar grabbed a hold of the pot.  
  
"On three…" he shouted, "one…" we swung it back, spilling some water onto the floor and our feet, "two…" again the same, "three!" We heaved it full force at the bar. A wave and then a splash killed most of the flames.  
  
Now that it was small enough George took his jacket and stifled the dying flames. As he dropped to the floor the fire department finally showed up.  
  
"A little late, boys?" George looked up.  
  
***  
  
Midnight  
  
Pat and Jeff had gone home an hour ago. Sonny left minutes ago. Now it was just George and I. Emily was inside getting her stuff and mulling over what to do. From about 10:45 to 11:30 she spent cursing and kicking things around in the kitchen. She had a terrible mouth when she was happy and swears were all she could speak when was angry.   
  
We cleaned up the joint as best we could but it was time to go home. George and I waited on the curb outside IJoe's/I. We wanted to sleep so badly but we decided the honorable thing to do would be to wait for our friend.  
  
"Intense night, huh?" I said.  
  
"We've had worse." He shrugged.  
  
"Not for dinner."   
  
He laughed, "And sometimes I swear Emily could make four letter words sound like poetry…" George sighed.  
  
"Shall I compare thee to a fucking summer's day?" I asked.  
  
"Hey, I've never heard you say that before." He let out a genuine little laugh.  
  
"Sonnet 18 or Shakespeare in general?"  
  
"No, fuck…or a variation thereof."  
  
"Yes, you have." I said.  
  
"No, I haven't." he argued.  
  
"Yes, you have."  
  
"No, I haven't."  
  
"The hospital. 1918."  
  
"Yelling at Holden doesn't count. It's as natural as breathing."  
  
"Yes, but you heard worse than what I just said."  
  
"Like I said," he tried, unsuccessfully to hold back a smile, "doesn't count."  
  
Emily walked outside and locked up. "You didn't have wait." She said.  
  
"It's alright, kid." George patted her on the back. "It's no problem. Everything else we can do tomorrow…hey you never used that counter anyway." Em cracked a weak smile. It was true. She never used it really. It was more that she torched part of her father's baby.  
  
"Come on," I said, getting up, "let's go home." 


	30. Manhattan

"Ain't too shabby," Emily said, proudly wiping her hands on her skirt. The bar had been closed almost a week. Em couldn't afford to fix the smaller bar completely or stay closed for longer than a week. She had some of it cleaned up and an old tapestry draped over it that had been in the cellar since God knows when.  
  
She, Sonny, George and I had spent the whole morning getting Joe's ready for reopening.  
  
"Where in the hell did you get that?" George complimented her on her interior decorating.  
  
"Oh, this old thing?" laughed Emily, "been in the family for years or since Dad bought the place English hunting dogs," she said admiring the scene covered the burnt overhang, "always wondered where or when I'd use this ain't no place from here to the Tenderloin that's got something like this."  
  
Emily turned heel and swung open the front door of Joe's, ready to leave. "And just where do you think you're going?" I folded my arms. We had been roommates for over a week now and we were past the grace period.  
  
"I have a special appointment if you don't mind," she said, slipping her arms through a black trench coat and likewise slipping out the door.  
  
"I bet it's ta see that Irving chump," Sonny sneered.  
  
"Irving who-what?" George shot, confused and angrily uninformed.  
  
"New boyfriend," Sonny shook his head.  
  
"Not so much of boyfriend really," I said, "more of friend friend of sorts that fulfills only certain stations of that one would call a boyfriend."  
  
"Do you mean she's just "George said, "for no good reason "  
  
"Well, sometimes like men, women are only attracted to mates for one reason, at least Emily's being honest," I defended.  
  
"I knew I didn't like the look of him when I first saw him," Sonny shook his head.  
  
"She's twenty and she's a very big girl." So she wasn't exactly playing Miss Morals and I knew she had some sort of ulterior motive for this little fiasco, but I decided to play the sisterhood card and defend the girl's liaisons.  
  
"Can her taste in men get any worse?!" George folded his arms.  
  
"Hey!" Sonny spat indignantly.  
  
"Please," George said, "how many times did you cheat on her or screw her over in some other way when you were together?"  
  
"Which time we were together?"  
  
"Exactly what I mean."  
  
"Sonny, scoot," I ordered.  
  
"What?" he asked.  
  
"I need to talk to Calvert alone," I said, " I'll represent all of your misogynist view points while you're gone I swear."  
  
Not knowing quite what "misogynist" meant, Sonny nodded and left for the kitchen.  
  
"Damn fool," George shook his head.  
  
"Who?" I asked.  
  
"All of them," he said, "Sonny for cheating, Emily for fooling around with dirt bags, this Irving guy for being a dirt bag," he pointed to me, "you for defending them."  
  
"Just Emily," I corrected.  
  
"Why ?"  
  
"Because right or wrong, you've got to let her grow up, she runs her own business, and she's lived through a lot and come out with brain intact I think we both know what that feels like." "Don't play the wise one with me, this Irving guy, he's a criminal. She's using him for fun and shtupping him for information," George said matter-of- factly.  
  
"Is he dangerous?" I asked cautiously.  
  
"No, no yet, not as far as I know. He's got friends in the Irish mob, ya know. Thinking they'll see a profit in this whole prohibition thing. But he isn't dangerous so far as I know. I don't think he's very involved. At least not directly. He seems to have a little hand in it."  
  
"Then what are you worrying about?"  
  
"I'm a Jew. It's what I do best."  
  
"So tell me about this Irving fellow." "That's all I know."  
  
"Liar," I nailed him.  
  
"I'm just saying I don't need any crazy mick mobsters trafficking illegal substances through Joe's because my best friend thinks she's doing me a favor." He adjusted himself against the bar, arms still folded.  
  
"How is she 'doing you a favor'?"  
  
"She hooks Irving, she might have access to information about where all the city's major bootleggers are and where they do business."  
  
"And you really care so much about alcohol trafficking?"  
  
"No, but I do care about criminals that are using it to take over the city. Could you imagine a Tammany Hall with mobsters?" He moved away from the counter and toward me, "I was born and raised just outside of it, I live here now, and it's also part of my job." He was serious, but he wasn't angry yet.  
  
"Then why keep Emily out of it? I know, she's almost like your little sister, but you have got to let her a little of that go. She's a full-grown woman; she was half way to it when you met her. Maybe she really can help. If you stop protecting her she'll act like the adult she is. And I know this isn't about Emily."  
  
"It's not all about Mary."  
  
"Well, then humor me."  
  
"It's about you."  
  
"Me?" I exclaimed, louder than I expected.  
  
"Yeah, you." He stopped, and I fixed my gaze on him and widened my eyes, as if to say 'care to elaborate?' He breathed. "Eight years ago, when I picked you off the street. You woke up as soon as a lifted your head." I didn't remember anything that day until I was lying, indiscriminately pumped full of sedatives, on a hospital bed. Oh, medical practices just are not what they used to be. "You're eyes " he continued, somehow I didn't feel this was a compliment on how beautiful they were, "they were manic. I'd seen shit before, but there, there was someone who had seen the edge. You didn't see something that was just part of your job, it was if someone reached down inside of you and ripped it all out. I knew I never wanted that to be me. Emily's been walking closer to the edge her whole life. She gets in too deep this time, she may never come out. Even if she lives."  
  
"Jesus Christ, Calvert, she's not going to die!" I would have absolutely speechless if it weren't for that last comment. "When did you get so morbid?"  
  
"Oh, I think a few of us have had a morbid couple of years."  
  
"When are you going to tell what's going on with you?"  
  
"As soon as you tell me what's going on with you."  
  
"I'm a little less shell shocked."  
  
"On the outside what are your parents' names?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"What are your parents' names?"  
  
"Hank and Ruth." He wasn't going to catch me off my guard that easily.  
  
"Hank and Ruth Dawson?"  
  
"Yes,." I lied.  
  
"Both dead."  
  
"Yes, both dead, thanks," I lied again.  
  
"What did they do? Where did you grow up?"  
  
"I'm from Philadelphia, Jersey boy." I said as a bit of insult.  
  
"Where? Where in Philly did you grow up? Hi, my name's George. I was born to rich Jews in Bergen County. I have two little brothers, they're names are Richard and David. Ricky's an accountant in California. Davey is a pain in the ass that enjoys dropping in and out of Princeton. My parents' names are Sophie and Tevyia. My mother's name was Kaminsky. My father's name was Meisels before he changed it in America. My father is a large insurance broker, my mother is a typical old Jewish lady that calls anyone she doesn't like a Cosack " I folded my arms. I was losing the argument. And I was not happy. George, however, cheered up as he continued down the list. "My first love was Susie Smith from down the road, but she moved away when we were nine. First real girl that I went with was Beth McGee: she ditched me and married a jackass." His eyes popped on the word 'jackass.' No, he wasn't bitter about that one. "Then I went to NYU where I got a bachelor's degree in English bet you didn't see that one coming." He stuck out his tongue and gave me a raspberry. "Instead of becoming a teacher as I had planned, I was suddenly inspired the summer after graduation to join the NYPD, enrolled in the police academy and you know the rest from there." George paused and smiled at me. "Your turn."  
  
"It's a long story."  
  
"Where do we have to go? I'm off for the night and you're taking a little furlough from working, Miss Hollywood."  
  
"Okay, it's several long stories." I had but one mission: get out of this.  
  
"How long does it have to be for a friend?" he said with seriousness, but with a small spark of emotion.  
  
I looked around for anything anything at all to get me out of this. If anybody was to know, it was Emily Dawson. But George was the friend I knew. We'd both seen Argonne, we'd both lost people. I had more in common with him than with anyone else I knew. Holden was the only person that knew for sure my real name and that another man was involved, but giving just that up was enough after he jilted me.  
  
"Rose." George focused my attention back.  
  
"I promise," I said with meaning, "I will tell you one day. I'll tell you everything."  
  
"You promise?"  
  
"I promise." I held up my hand, elbow bent, in front of my own face. George grabbed it and pulled me to him for a hug. He had strong arms, the kind you feel indefinitely safe in. I had the sudden urge to kiss him, but resisted it. The only friendship that survived that was Manny. Besides, wasn't I still in love with Holden?  
  
"So now what, Freud?" he said, still holding me.  
  
"I didn't bring up any Freudian logic today."  
  
"Good thing too. He's a cocaine addict that's much too obsessed with people's mothers."  
  
"He has some good theories!" I defended, but smiling this time. I pulled away a little bit to look at him.  
  
"Yeah, which he came up with when he was doing cocaine and thinking about people's mothers." "Quiet, you!" I hit him gently in the arm and walked behind the counter, heading for the kitchen. George followed.  
  
"Very bad things about people's mothers!" he shouted after me as push open the swinging doors.  
  
***  
  
Even the City can get monotonous. After only three weeks the whole neighborhood felt so stuffed and overwhelming. True, I lived there when I was seventeen all those years ago, but Lower Manhattan is far less oppressive. I still favor it to Midtown West, of which my memories cross between nostalgia and horror.  
  
Emily decided that as her new friend and roommate, and the only other woman she'd had around in a few years, that we should go out into the country for a day. She was Jack's cousin, his last living relative of any importance. Emily Dawson was no longer a name that haunted me, no longer a girl I saw only as her cousin's essence, no longer the brash, unladylike broad though she still was in a way, but now she was full person to me. She the exciting and infectious new friend. I often forgot she was the woman I kept a horrifying secret from.  
  
I forgot all day while we walked through rolling hills and trees past vacation homes for city dwellers. Little cottages lined the street while we walked from the Park Ridge train station in Bergen County New Jersey, one town over from where George grew up.  
  
It wasn't so much the country anymore. Year by year permanent families moved in and the towns grew up around the train stations. In all my time in and out of Manhattan as a girl and the year I lived there as a teenager, I had never seen New York's suburbs.  
  
"I can't say I see your interest here," I said to Emily, "it doesn't look like there's anything here." I knew she had some sort of plan this time. She made me bring roller skates.  
  
"Exactly," she paused and looked around at the rolling green and tall trees, "nothing happens here. No gang fights, no brawls, no murders, beatings, rapes. Not to say that doesn't happen everywhere eventually. But not everyday. I used to live in a place like this when I was a kid, you know? Only Midwesterners...they're perpetually five years behind the times but very polite...except maybe me. I fit in better in places like this, wide open spaces, but if you forget you're right outside New York City, they remind you. They've got they're slightly different brand of attitude though. I can't say I can immediately tell the difference. Just like accents, they're all different, but around here they're all a little related."  
  
"So George is, in a way, like you're cousin across the river?"  
  
"Yes, but I like to pretend I don't associate with anything in Jersey."  
  
"Don't tell George that."  
  
"Yeah, and don't tell him I was close to the Calvert abode either. The whole family. They get on me. Mrs. Calvert says she would want me to marry their youngest son if I wasn't out of the faith. But then again, she liked Mary. That and Mrs. C's convinced I'll convert. I'm practically his little sister. He needs a kid to keep him entertained."  
  
"I think children are a bit more than entertainment. You know one day..."  
  
"I'll have children just like me. Punishment. I know. Besides, I'm getting a little old to marry. Or maybe I'm at the ripe age, but I ain't got any prospects."  
  
"Irving?" I asked, wondering if the man on the side had grown on her.  
  
"No," she said, "Sonny used to propose once a year since I was sixteen or seventeen, but I was only stupid enough to go back with him after every time he wandered or did something else completely damn stupid. Infatuation goes so far, right? I knew I wasn't spending the rest of my life with that. I don't wanna get married anyway, I don't think. Got my own business that I run just fine. And I couldn't live the way I do now, and hell, it's not perfect, but I like it."  
  
"What about your mother?"  
  
"My family was different. We were a team. It started about love and it stayed that way." "You're not a..." Yes, it was a stupid thing to think knowing full well the men she'd gone with. But didn't seem interested in anything long term anymore and even cut Sonny off for good. I adjusted my long, black coat awkwardly. It was still March and a bit brisk.  
  
"No," she said without the slightest offense, "wouldn't it be awful though?" she sighed ruefully, and uncharacteristically sympathetic, "living in the shadows like that? People calling you an abomination just for getting you're kicks...and worse yet, when you fall in love. It's terrible."  
  
To a more contemporary audience Emily's opinions may not seem terribly odd. But then, even among suffragettes and feminists, I'd never heard anything so striking as Emily said.  
  
"You know," I laughed as I remembered, "when I was fourteen my mother told me there was no such thing as homosexuality."  
  
Emily laughed. "Don't worry, my family never mentioned it either." We two had lived a little too much to deny the ways of the world and all it's people, even if it was taboo for the rest of society. "I like men," Emily said bluntly. "As women we have to ultimate advantage in the bedroom."  
  
"Oh, do we?"  
  
"Men can't fake anything," I loved Em sometimes, so blunt and so crass. So damn honest. "Whether you're doing alright is a simple matter of up or down."  
  
"Jesus, Em!" Sometimes she flabbergasted me as well.  
  
"Tell me the little something solid between your legs isn't a good comforting thing."  
  
"I like to think of it with a little more umph than simple 'comfort.'" I said awkwardly.  
  
"Ha! Knew you were just as vulgar as I was. Well, maybe not 'comfort' but damn I like it so much I can't explain." I didn't say that I'd agreed, but I did. I just smiled inwardly. Emily galloped victoriously. "Now we're gonna go roller skating." She pulled my hand. "Because I like that too!"  
  
"Where?" I asked as she dragged me up the street.  
  
"Here."  
  
"Where here?"  
  
"Just put your God damn skates on and I'll show you."  
  
The last time someone from this family dragged to do something against my will it had gotten awkward, not to say I regretted it. But why did I have a feeling it was going to be dangerous this time?  
  
"On!" I gestured to my feet as we stood atop the empty, tree-lined street. I noticed a single green leaf on one tree on the sidewalk. Spring was coming.  
  
"Okay," she said as she held my firmly and skated out into the street. "Now."  
  
"Now what?" I asked, feeling unsteady atop the hill standing in roller skates...on pavement. She couldn't be serious.  
  
"Hold on tight," she said with mounting glee. Then she kicked her right leg and we were nearly airborne.  
  
We sped faster and faster down the hill and I lost myself screaming in perfect jubilance with my new friend. The wind ripped my and kissed my face all over. I was back to being in Sunny New Mexico, swimming in the Schuykill in my backyard, running through the bowels of Titanic in those few delicious hours.  
  
You might say we were a bit old for this, Em and I. She was twenty and I twenty-five, a spinster for my time. I spent eight years doing anything to take back my childhood or little moments of happiness. I thought I'd found that in Columbus for the most and for brief moments here and there. I saw Emily's face after racing down that hill. She hadn't won anything, she wasn't in love. She lived through a lot in just two decades and I never saw that kind of crazed joy in anyone's face than Emily's at that moment. Emily wasn't taking back anything. She was just living it.  
  
When I met Jack eight years earlier he had the same attitude I'd been trying to live my life by. I found myself failing there over the past few years. Yes, Jack had been separated from his family. Yes, Jack had been there when his parents died. Yes, Jack had seen the world and her ups and downs and poverty and suffering. He still held face and never lost himself to depression.  
  
But simple fact was that he was a kid. I was no kid anymore. I'd also spent months during the war swallowed by death. He'd never seen war. He wasn't the one who had to live with Titanic. I'd lost my father, Jack, Mary, and Tobey to untimely and often gruesome death. The only happy and long term attachment I had was happily married to someone else. The childhood friend I'd fallen in love with left me when I needed him most. I spent the last year among, for the most part, false friends and drugs and booze. Somehow, for all his vision, I doubt young Mr. Dawson saw this in my future.  
  
And Emily. The young cousin. The last of her family left alive. My Holy Grail of the Dawson Family. She wasn't a child anymore. Her future had been grimmer. And her immediate future: horrifying. A violent home and violent emotions threatened to tear her apart in every way possible.  
  
But for now all that mattered was that single moment, that rush down the hill. Laughter. 


	31. Manhattan

I would be officially working at Joe's that night. Emily was both my roommate and my boss. She put me on the payroll, saying it was just funny having me work there and not paying me. I didn't need the money, not that Emily was exactly poor by this stage in her life. Joe's was a successful business and since her father's death, she was the owner. I, on the hand, still had much more cash to burn. I was a C-list semi-star.  
  
Our apartment was small, smaller than the one I had in LA. There were four rooms. There was a kitchen with a partial partition which divided it from the living room area where there was a nice couch, a ratty armchair that used to be red but had turned a sickly pink color, and bureau with a blue- painted mirror above it. There was a kitchen table with four chairs, three of which matched and one she stole from the basement of Joe's, they were also in the living room as the kitchen was very small.  
  
My bedroom was spare. I hadn't been living there very long. Besides my bed and some other furniture, there was only a picture of my college graduation with Ada Johnson on the wall, and a picture of Holden, George, Tobey and I at the hospital that sat on my night stand. The walls were painted peach, but fading.  
  
Emily's room was roughly the same size and there were dozens of pictures all around. There many of her, George and Sonny. There was one of her and Mary working in a factory in the early months of the War. On a break, Mary had dangerously pulled loose her hair and it hung naturally off her head. Emily had her shoulder slung over Mary's and Mary was slouching down, making Emily appear taller. Their heads were together, wearily smiling. Mary was holding a tire with her left hand as others worked in the background.  
  
There was another of her family. It was unusual for portrait photographs of it's time. They were all leaning in together–and smiling. Hannah and Peter were to the left with Jack crouching in front, and Maggie and Joe to the right with Emily. Jack looked to be about thirteen and Emily about seven.  
  
I had been sitting around our apartment that morning for the better part of an hour. It was my usually routine of drinking coffee, smoking a cigarette, and reading the newspaper when I decided to sneak into Emily's room while she was out and take a look at the picture again.  
  
I had never seen an actual photograph of Jack before. It fascinated me. It ached me, to lose someone and have their innocence staring back at you. It ached, too, because I knew I had fallen out of love with the dead man and it scared me. For a time, it became all I knew.  
  
I wondered if I would have left him if he had lived. Dead, I could love and idolize him and glorify him. But I wonder if I would have left if we docked together. I fell in love with the man, but I also fell in love with freedom. I would have tasted freedom and craved it in all its forms. Would I have stayed in his secure arms when I could have left him and run free? He may have been looking for love after years of wandering. I didn't know him long enough for a quiz. I knew what I wanted: no fences and wide open pastures. I would have left, maybe I would have always loved him and come back, but I knew myself too well. I would have left him at some point. It would have been a mistake. But I would have left him.  
  
Now, I felt as if my love for Holden was fading too, and my burgeoning attraction to George only served to confuse me. I hated it. I was twenty- five years old and a woman of her own means. Looking back on my relatively short life, it played out like a story. I'd imagine the events of my life as a comedy, a tragedy, occasionally a sob story I'm sorry to say for someone who hates melodrama. I could consider the events of Titanic a great love story, not just because it was mine, but it seemed like one reflecting on it and pulling myself away from it a little. I had been one half in several love stories, and where I stood then–at about five o'clock in the evening sometime in early March, this the year of our Lord nineteen hundred and twenty–I didn't feel as if I knew anything. I was lost. Where had the fire gone? I think I blew it out myself. I'd seen too much. It was the point where there was too much. Too much suffering and loss. I could still tell Emily Dawson her cousin was dead, I could still try to find Holden and see how he was or let whatever I felt for George blossom, or find my mother–who I barely admitted to myself that I missed. But she was my mother and she loved me. She wasn't the easiest person in the world, but if ever she loved someone she loved me. She *knew* me when no one else did, but I hated her for not doing anything about it. I couldn't deny my mother. But I couldn't deny anyone else. I was quart low on something I felt I couldn't get back.  
  
Oh well, I thought, time to go to Joe's.  
  
***  
  
"Hey there, Em," I said walking into Joe's and casually dropping my purse on counter as I walked behind. She was slouched over the counter, elbows on the surface, chin cupped in her hand, rear sticking out behind her.  
  
"Hello there," she said not looking up from her papers, most likely doing inventory. We weren't open yet.  
  
"You look so serious," I commented. She looked up, as if to shake herself out of it.  
  
"Yeah," she sighed, "I try to finish everything before we open tonight. Ugh, look at this," she held up her sheets. "Business is slow. Business was never slow."  
  
"Welcome to prohibition."  
  
"Jesus."  
  
"Start trafficking alcohol," I teased.  
  
"If only."  
  
"Just a bad month."  
  
Emily stared harder at her numbers. "I hate math and I hate Carrie Nation."  
  
"You know I miss drinking, funny, things like this never mattered when I was a little girl. The only stimulant I needed was sun or rain, maybe a doll."  
  
"Speak for yourself. I was cussing better than a whore since age six."  
  
"Cursing and alcohol are two different things...what I was trying to say was we never needed any sort of corruption or...that's not a good word, adult, I suppose, forms of pleasure to keep going. Nothing's simple, even for people that aren't very complicated."  
  
"Having trouble thinking of the right words?"  
  
"Yes. Today my mind is a little clouded."  
  
"And you went to college too. What a masterful grip on the English language."  
  
"Yes, but I can still do this." I pulled a piece a blank paper from her pile and took her pencil. I began writing down my previous argument in Latin, albeit very poor Latin, but Latin all the same. Then I started writing in French, then Spanish, then our name's in Greek.  
  
"That's disgusting," Emily said.  
  
"Yeah, my Latin is terrible and only know my letters in Greek. I can't speak it."  
  
"You're disgustingly over-educated."  
  
"I learned Spanish between school, by default."  
  
"Explain where the University of Maryland teaches its nurses the classics. I think if you know whether your patient is dead or alive is a little more first priority."  
  
"Hey, it's good to be well-rounded. And I didn't learn it at university. Before they died, my parents had a lot of money and sent me to some pretty hoity-toity schools." I pressed the tip of the pen to my chin.  
  
"Why don't you have any of that money now?"  
  
"Debt." Emily knew the story of Rose Dawson, the Body. But she didn't say anything. So what if she'd already guessed I was the dead girl on Titanic? It was the only name, the only fact she had. As time went on it was easier and easier to put off telling her.  
  
"By the way," she said, "you might wanna change your clothes."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Remember what you said about business?"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"I'm not doing it for *financial* profit but I got Irving to do me a favor. Dress sleazy, this place is gonna be crazy tonight."  
  
"What are you getting at?"  
  
"Never end a sentence with a preposition, college girl."  
  
"Em!"  
  
"Alright, fine. I'm trafficking alcohol on the side to get a hold of some these gang types."  
  
"What?!"  
  
"I don't give a damn about the legality of booze–though I'd prefer it–but I do give a damn about George and about my neighborhood that they've been killing. So what if the Gophers were falling when I moved here. Gangs are still killing my home. I heard stories about how the bigger gangs could rally five hundred people to a spot within an hour. So you know how much power they could have if they had all the alcohol? Booze, drugs–you know, not aspirin. I mean opium, cocaine, cloves."  
  
"And would you buy from them if you wanted it for your own purposes?"  
  
"Yes, I drink. And yes smoked a clove or two in my day and yeah, opium once, but no, not from those bastards." Her eyes were cold as steel.  
  
"You're involvement in this is dangerous," I warned.  
  
"Please," she said with an edge of bitterness, "no one's gonna kill me. You and George, sweet Jesus! You're so paranoid!"  
  
"No, I meant revenge is unhealthy. How many people do you want to kill? How much better will it make anything."  
  
"Revenge is for desperados and heroes. I'm just an ordinary girl."  
  
"Don't you–"  
  
"Don't *you* tell George and I mean it."  
  
"He'll find out."  
  
"He'll find out sooner rather than later if you tell him."  
  
"Are you threatening me, Em?"  
  
"No, I'd never do that. But I'd like to sometimes." She glided to the other end of the counter away from me. And I *do* mean *glided.*  
  
"Are you wearing roller skates?"  
  
"I might be!" she rolls into the kitchen flinging open the door. "You know," she said poking her head out again, "this is like this one time in Wisconsin–"  
  
"Heard it," I dismissed yet another one of Emily's stories that she had been repeated for years. I didn't want to hear about Jack again.  
  
***  
  
She was right. Things were absolutely crazy that night. Just before happy hour I came back from the apartment in a nice black dress I wore out to dinner in California. Emily came out from the kitchen wearing a tight red, beaded thing that was not quite a dress and not quite a burlesque outfit. It fell to her knees and split up her left leg.  
  
There must have been forty people in the bar. It was crowded and noisy with talking and shouting and a small quartet playing on the small stage in the back. There was Emily in the middle of the crowd, in her sparkling red dress, twirling around by herself. A long black braid followed her around like a whip as she spun. It was as if there was a glow around her, she was spinning and flowing as if she had somehow harnessed all the energy in the room. She was even dancing. It looked like she was flying on the inside. I wondered if all the people around her, dancing, enjoying themselves seemingly less then the proprietress, knew what a miserable life she had.  
  
"Rose!" a voice came from behind, startling me. "Whoa, somebody's jumpy." George.  
  
"Somebody else looks sore."  
  
"My job is in trouble." He motioned for me to follow him into the kitchen for a more intimate discussion.  
  
"Does it have anything to do with...substances that are not present?" I said as the doors swung closed behind me.  
  
"No, I know about this place becoming a speak. Emily's working in cooperation with the police. So she's a spy as are the rest by default now. I found out, got, uh...unhappy." No, George Calvet, angry? Somehow I could hear the bitter sarcasm sounding through the eighteenth precinct. "And now I have to keep my mouth shut."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"If I make any more noise I'll be a communist, anarchist, socialist, Bolshevik homosexual Jew with a cherry on top."  
  
"Jesus," I sighed.  
  
"There's another liberal Jew they strung up for saying something."  
  
"They crucified him."  
  
"Mmm?"  
  
"They didn't hang him. 'Strung up' implies hanging."  
  
"They hung him from a cross."  
  
"It's a different kind of execution."  
  
"Well, they tend to lynch us non-Anglos nowadays."  
  
"I think you can get away with getting 'Dirty Red' tattooed to your backside and losing your job. I don't think your pals at the NYPD would lynch you–or nail you to a cross."  
  
"Won't lynch me? They lynched Leo Frank!" Leo Frank was a Jewish investigator in Georgia found guilty in his own murder case several years before. He was killed by a lynch mob at Georgia State Prison.  
  
"So Emily's going to get shot by gangsters and you're going to be lynched because you're a Jewish cop?"  
  
"Hey, Em and I, we've got a couple 'tarnishes' on who we are. Poor kid from the streets and a darker shade of white."  
  
"Hey, I've got a criminal record in Chicago!" That was smart, I inwardly cringed. Stupid.  
  
"You what?"  
  
"I was arrested for disturbing the peace during suffrage rallies. Spent up to two weeks in jail once. You know, women–we don't have too many rights? I'm a capable adult voting for the first time this fall."  
  
"If I can interrupt youse guys," Sonny butted in. We didn't even know he was there.  
  
"Comments from the Italian on this argument?" I asked, inwardly groaning and thinking this had become a challenge of who's the bigger victim.  
  
"No," he said, "look out there," he pointed at through the portal windows on the kitchen doors. The quartet on stage was directly in our field of vision. "That's Milton on the sax. He's really good, ain't he?"  
  
"Yes, he is." I nodded, knowing I was about to feel incredibly guilty.  
  
"You guys know 'em?"  
  
"No," I said.  
  
"Met him once," said George.  
  
"I don't wanna say who has it worst where, but how do you think it feels to be Milton?" Milton kept on playing his sax in the next room, just as he had been. Milton was black.  
  
"Shut up," said Sonny.  
  
***  
  
I was sitting in George's office the Sunday after. Em, Sonny, and developed a habit of hanging around there when we we're working ourselves. He was somewhere else in the station being neurotic. Emily was God knows where and Sonny had been in the bathroom for the better part of fifteen minutes. Somehow I had gotten into my head that Sonny was quite useless, probably owing to his unfaithfulness. I didn't know how to make it up to him after the night in the kitchen of Joe's.  
  
"We are the only precinct in this whole city with a telephone in the bathroom!" George stormed in. I was at his desk reading the newspaper.  
  
"That's where they first installed the lines..." I defended, half- heartedly.  
  
"Cops are so stupid," he shook his head. Poor George. He was more bewildered than usual today.  
  
Sonny came in looking for his coffee and looking to pinch my paper.  
  
"What took you so long?" I asked him.  
  
"I was making a telephone call."  
  
George waved his fist. "I hate this place."  
  
"Why? You can makes calls from the john, Calvert. That's luxury." Sonny laughed. George glanced at my paper.  
  
"I know you're both eying my paper. There's not a chance until I'm finished....don't even think about my cigarettes."  
  
"Why stuff the chimney when it's cold outside?" George teased.  
  
"Sometimes I wonder if these are very good for me," I mused looking down my current cigarette between my fingers.  
  
"Breathing smoke in and out of your lungs...concept could use some thought. But eh, won't kill you," said Sonny. George leaned into my paper, reading it over my shoulder.  
  
"I think A. Mitchell Palmer is the devil."  
  
"Well," I said, "you are the Commie." I winked at him. Sonny didn't see.  
  
Emily scuttled in and shut the door behind her.  
  
"Eleventh Avenue!" she whispered.  
  
"What is it, Dawson?" George said low. The men gathered on either side of me as Emily leaned over the other side of the desk. We all huddled together as she rambled off information.  
  
"A warehouse on Eleventh Avenue. Irving works for a guy named Hans Martin. Most of the bootleggers run everything to a warehouse on Eleventh Avenue." Sonny shifted himself uncomfortably. The man who shot Mary McBride, and subsequently as I later found out, Sonny's brother Carmine, worked for Hans Martin.  
  
"That's amazing, kid. How big is Martin, do you know?"  
  
"I dunno. Big I guess. The warehouse is a big deal–if it's all Irving's cracking it up to be. Not just booze, opium, marijuana, cocaine, and something that begins with an 'h.' Shit I ain't touchin' that's for sure. But they can make big money off of it. I'm gonna wait till I can see it myself."  
  
"That's dangerous," George warned.  
  
"Please," Emily huffed.  
  
"I'm looking out for your safety. I'm a friend before I'm a cop. Watch yourself."  
  
"Listen, I know I can do this. Just let me play around with Irving for a while. I know we can do this. We can get this guy. I can feel it. I have Irving," she gripped the air with her hand emphatically, "and I know we can–"  
  
"Calvert!" Captain Barnes, George's boss, burst in ungracefully.  
  
"Barnes!" George tried to straighten himself up as if he hadn't just been huddling secretively.  
  
"Am I interrupting something?" Barnes folded his arms suspiciously.  
  
"Aw, shucks!" Emily sighed, "you interrupted our Bolshevik party meeting!"  
  
"Don't you even speak it, Miss Dawson! Calvert, I want a word with you no later than tomorrow!" He slammed the door and left. 


	32. Manhattan

*Another chapter that isn't particularly PC but I'm trying to highlight to racial and ethnic tensions (among other tensions) of the period–plus there was no such thing as "politically correct" in 1920*  
  
"To bate a fish withal: if it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced me, and hindered me half a million, laughed at my losses, mocked at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, heated mine enemies; and what's his reason? I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? Fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian where is his humility? Revenge. If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian example? Why, revenge. The villainy you teach me I will execute, and it shall go hard but I will better the instruction."  
  
We were sitting, Sonny and I, in the backroom of his family's grocery store, Geneco. I had promised to teach him Shakespeare, an apology for calling him a misogynist and pegging him as stupid. Sonny was reading aloud.  
  
"I never thought this could be so easy to understand," he commented.  
  
"I think you were just shying away because of the Old English and crazy metaphors."  
  
"I guess that too, but what I really mean is that I didn't think I'd agree with him...at least with Shylock. I don't know what Shakespeare thought. Shit ain't changed."  
  
"Maybe it'll change one day."  
  
"People have been saying that forever. Wanna here my deal?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
"I seen a lot different people...Negroes, Irish, Germans, Italians like me, Jews like George, rich, poor,...immigrants right offa the boat...they'll always hate each other. Not everyone, but there's always gonna be someone hatin' the other guy just because he's the other guy. No one bothers to really take a look at another person. It's like we're too lazy to like each other."  
  
"That's frightening...because I agree. I spent a year rallying for voting rights, now I've got them...I'm not treated any differently when I go in for work. Directors don't listen to me unless I'm half-dressed, the army won't give me veterans' benefits, and it's implicit everywhere I go that I'm some sort of prostitute because I live on my own, travel on my own, and sleep with men."  
  
"I know. You know why I was never faithful to Em?"  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because that's how I could get to her...everyday when we were kids, she'd bully me...Yeah, she'd bully me because she liked me and didn't want to admit and 'cause I was an annoying kid, but every time I was a 'fuckin' guinea' or a 'fuckin' wop.' I knew Em don't have anything against Italians or nothin' but the fact that she thought she could–that she could get to me using that. I was kid so–I believed it....so then I slept with another woman every time something went bad–you know when she was my girl. It was what made me felt like a man. I could hurt her that way. I could get to her, ya know? 'Yeah, I was the man and it was okay.' I mean my father did it to my mother and no one said a God damn thing, not even Mama. If Em could make me feel like some sorta dirty white, I could make her feel like she was just a stupid woman. I don't think women are any worse than men and I know Em don't care about what blood's in anybody, but everything around us...it made it okay to use it against each other."  
  
***  
  
Emily had done it. By April we were in New York's trafficking scene. If serving alcohol to the Irish mob every night at Joe's hadn't made it apparent enough delivering drugs from the Eleventh Avenue warehouse had.  
  
We were walking on the scenic streets of Hell's Kitchen, past a brawl in an alley, to which we paid little mind. We must have been somewhere on 53rd between 9th and 10th when I starting schvitsing.  
  
"No one's going to stop us," Emily said, "you're paranoid. Suitcases, Rose. Yeah, real suspicious. We're delivering because no would suspect a couple of seemingly nice young woman."  
  
"I don't know the name of half the shit I'm carrying."  
  
"Oh, shut up. You know you've tried half of it in Hollywood."  
  
"*Tried,* not illegally trafficked."  
  
"But illegally consumed."  
  
"I never did cocaine. Gigi DuBois did. I just threw her into cold baths...though I'm not sure how much that helped...that stuff made her crazy enough."  
  
"You know I pity you sometimes."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Half the world would call you a whore and all the decadents call you a prude. At least everybody sure exactly what's wrong with me."  
  
"God dammit, there's nothing wrong with you. Curse all you like in front of adults, sleep with whoever you want and run your God damn business!"  
  
"That's just your crazy liberal opinion, you see," I rolled my eyes, but not at her. "You know a proper young lady isn't even accustomed to being kissed before she's married."  
  
"To hell with propriety," I said. "Let's get the cocaine, and marijuana, and other things we shouldn't be speaking about to Martin." Funny I said that. I helped Hans Martin and his people bootleg about once a week. I never once saw the man.  
  
"But I'm glad to know you'll let me fuck whom I want. It's nice I have your permission."  
  
"Em, I don't want to know about your men."  
  
"If I had it my way, none of you would know any of my men."  
  
"Too late. Sonny," I reminded.  
  
"Rose..."  
  
"What?" I said, grinning.  
  
"Sometimes!"  
  
***  
  
"Sometimes when I see Barnes I want to take that stupid mustache of his and yank it off so much that the ugly face of his starts bleeding! I wanna punch him in the face every time I see him!" George said to himself as he wrote out a report on his desk. It was early May and I was bringing him lunch–he wasn't expecting me to, but I doubted he was eating well lately.  
  
George was recently informed to keep his *big nose* out of affairs that he wasn't in charge of. He was sick of Emily being a pawn, granted she was using them too. And he was sick of his ethnicity being tied to everything. He was now the precinct red.  
  
"Glad to see the tension has died down."  
  
"I mean I *love* him." I loved it when talked like that–I mean actually loved it. I wasn't always sure how healthy his bitter sarcasm was, but I thought it was so funny. I became addicted to it sometimes. But that last statement was fueled.  
  
"You need to quit," I said flat out.  
  
"I'm in over my head already and so are *you.* We're in a lot of shit, you know that?"  
  
"Yes, Calvert, I do!" I spat, annoyed. I looked around the room, thinking. "Sorry."  
  
"It's okay, I'm sorry too," he mumbled, "Sometimes I feel I'm getting too old for this." I watched him purse his lips as he thought on. He knew I was watching him pretty directly, but he didn't care. He watched me too. It never felt strange.  
  
"You're only thirty."  
  
"I know but a few years ago I felt so much younger. The world was so big and full of everything. Now...it's nothing. One day I'd love my job and get married and have a family. And here I am nobody with no one."  
  
"You've got friends and your parents and brothers."  
  
"Of course. But it doesn't feel like enough anymore. I sound like a jerk for all I've got, you know? But it feels like it's not going anywhere. There's no bright beacon shining on the horizon. There's shit there. That doesn't sound awful to you, does it, Rose?"  
  
"No, George... the road used to seem endless and wonderful to me too." Jack had left me an interesting legacy, that was becoming more of a dull parasite than a dream.  
  
"Where did the time go?"  
  
"Where did the fire go?"  
  
"I'd feel worse," he said, "if I could feel anything anymore."  
  
"Let's leave," I'm squeezed his arm excitedly. Descending back into a sort of blissful and uncharacteristic immaturity.  
  
"I have to stay late today."  
  
"No. I mean *leave.*"  
  
"We can't."  
  
"We can just pick up and go. This place is hell."  
  
"And some of us are damned to stay here."  
  
"You need to get away more than I do."  
  
"My family across the river. I can't leave them."  
  
"You have a brother out in California. Go there. Go anywhere!"  
  
"It isn't that easy. I wish it was." He looked right into my eyes in a way that should have made me uncomfortable. "I'd go with you..." Originally, I had this wonderful fantasy of George, Em, and even Sonny going to California early with me and dancing in the sunshine everyday–forgetting how unhappy I was back in Los Angeles. But I liked how he just attributed it to the two of us. But who said I was happy here? They certainly weren't. "But I can't."  
  
"Take it from me– " I hesitated, "it is." Too late. I was already rejected and didn't have the will to argue anymore.  
  
"I've got business here. More than business as usual."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Johnny Culbreth works for Hans Martin."  
  
"Who the hell is he?"  
  
"He was involved in a brawl with Carmine Andolini three years ago that killed one bystander. Last year he knifed Carmine on Eleventh Avenue. Sound familiar, Rose?"  
  
"He'll kill all of us before you kill him," I warned ridiculously. One, by assuming we were going to die–the idea had become so common to me. And two, by assuming George planned to kill him.  
  
"I'm not going to kill him," he said passively. He was silent for a moment. We were both thinking of Mary. My heart started skipping when I learned that her killer had a name. Until now it just felt like she died in an accident.  
  
Now there was another new feeling. I didn't like talking about Mary with George or pertaining to George. What kind of person gets *jealous* of their dead friend? God, I despised myself sometimes.  
  
"What are you working on?" I inquired, changing the subject.  
  
"Not much–not much as in there isn't much to work *with.* Emily's cousin. Her life doesn't seem to be going anywhere either," he said with a touch of irony, "she wants to find Jack. She knows it's pretty useless but she wants to try. At least she's got something to salvage. But I don't think it will work."  
  
It was funny because I felt like someone was choking me from the inside. The beautiful thing about me and George and our friendship is sometimes we could just sit there and feel like there was nothing between us at all and nothing ever to hide. Now there two great blond walls that stood between us–and it was a wall within me as well. It should have brought us closer, but I had never told George about Jack. He could only guess. And now I was falling in love with him. I got up abruptly, scraping my chair on the floor. I thought my heart was going to beat out of my chest.  
  
"Late for the Bolshevik meeting?" he joked, sensing my urgency but trying to glaze over it.  
  
"You're the Russian," I said distantly and distracted. I was looking to grab my coat and forgetting in was spring and I didn't have one.  
  
"What's the matter?"  
  
"Nothing. I have to go."  
  
"Where?"  
  
"Home. I–I left the oven on."  
  
For an actress I was a terrible actress. 


	33. Manhattan

I tried to forget about the awkward scene with George earlier that day and danced with Emily on the floor of Joe's. I can't remember what the song was but it was something wild and sweet that Milton and his band played. Most of what I remember is the intoxication of the crowd (both literal and figurative) the sweat of bodies, and how Emily's charisma filled the whole room even though her slender body took up little room in crowd as it bounced and whirled along with mine. Her cheap, risque dress sparkled and attacked my eyes with every violent flash of light it reflected, like big, red fireworks on the Fourth of July. Like fire.  
  
"I need water," I tapped Emily's bouncing body, then clicked my heels to Milton's sax as I made my way to the bar. I hopped over and went in to the kitchen for some ice and some quiet–or something a little closer to quiet. I saw George walk in as I pushed opened the swinging doors to the kitchen, but I pretended not to notice him. He would most likely act like nothing happened, well, nothing really did happen. We didn't fight, and I didn't get stupid and kiss him, but I still felt sickeningly awkward.  
  
In the dim light, I sipped ice water in the back and then lit up a cigarette to calm the nerves that dancing didn't help. Putting the glass to my sweaty brow, I could see George's distorted figure through the water glass.  
  
"Hey there," he said.  
  
"Hi," I croaked, then took another sip of water to clear my throat.  
  
He pulled around the chair next to me and sat down with it backwards, resting his forearms and elbows on the back.  
  
"Wanna job tomorrow?"  
  
"Depends on the job."  
  
"Spy stuff. Very dangerous."  
  
"It doesn't sound very dangerous from your tone," I needed to keep this conversation as casual and playful as possible to kill the days awkwardness, at least for me. I could have adopted a very business-like tone but I hated that, I was good at it and I did it a lot, but I hated that.  
  
"It isn't. It's ridiculously routine."  
  
"Take my innocent-looking self and take the sinister-looking package or take the sinister-looking briefcase and deliver it to the creepy man I have never seen."  
  
"Who says he's exactly creepy?"  
  
"He's an underground big city crime boss. That is, Mr. Calvert, creepy. You've met him?"  
  
"Of course not. But you never know what he's actually like in person–"  
  
"Ha!" I cut him off, "nobody's actually seen him in person!"  
  
"Are you doing it or not?"  
  
"Of course I am. Does it look like I have anything else to do?"  
  
"The 'delivery' guy comes in here at noon. The liquor you put in the back room behind the kitchen. Whatever the hell else he gives you, take it to the same place as last time."  
  
I cupped my cheek in my hand and sighed as I leaned against a box full of flour bags.  
  
"Anything else?"  
  
George paused awkwardly, I asked it in such a way that I was getting him to leave. Though Freud might argue, I didn't mean it to come out that way.  
  
"I gotta go," he said without emotion, "I'm tired." And he left without saying goodbye.  
  
I intended to wait a few minutes so as not to seem like I was following him, but fell asleep and woke up lazily stretched over the flour bags. I lifted my wrist with some effort and I looked at my watch. I had been asleep for nearly an hour. Not that Emily would care terribly but I was still disappointed in myself for falling asleep on the job. I started cleaning up the kitchen, then came out into the bar, asking Emily if she wanted help closing.  
  
"We're not closing for another half hour. Where were you?" she asked.  
  
"In the kitchen..." I wondered if I should admit to my dozing. It didn't matter anyway, she went over to help the night's drunken leftovers out the door.  
  
Somewhere close to two we finally left Joe's and headed home. It was a bloody hot night out for early June but the city was sweltering in the dark. I put on my favorite blue linen nightgown and flopped on the bed, ignoring the sheets. I didn't bother to close the door as I usually did, too sleepy I suppose. I saw Emily wandering by in a white night gown covered by the dark plaid bathrobe she always wore around the apartment. I couldn't understand how she didn't sweat to death, she always wore that damn thing, whether she needed it or not.  
  
It was obvious she couldn't sleep; she kept pacing back and forth. Jack Dawson's ghost seemed to following her every step, her every sigh.  
  
I slowly drifted off into a sleep more peaceful than the one I had taken in the kitchen of Joe's earlier that night. But I could not have been asleep more than an hour or so when I woke to Emily shaking me.  
  
"Wha-what?"  
  
"I heard something from the basement?"  
  
"From here?" I asked, rubbing my head; we were on the third floor.  
  
"I was walkin' around outside for a bit. It sounds funny."  
  
"Tell the landlord in the morning." I rolled over.  
  
"Rose!" she shook me.  
  
"Em, I'm tired! Go away! You're a big girl, go see yourself."  
  
"Something ain't right."  
  
"Your English," I mumbled.  
  
"For that, you get up!" She ripped the covers from below, almost making me roll off the bed. "It's makin' sounds very not good in there!"  
  
"Like what?" I was annoyed but awake enough to realize that she wasn't playing around. There was an urgency in her voice.  
  
"Air or water, something rushing. No one's down there, just please look at it with me. I'll make it up to you, Rip Van Winkle."  
  
I groaned, she knew Miss Perfect had fallen asleep on the job. In her defense, Miss Perfect was having a bad day before now, before she even got to Joe's.  
  
I didn't bother to put on my slippers and followed Em out the door and down two flights of stairs, around the corner to the back and stopped at the basement door. I put my ear to the door. I knew that sound. Rushing water.  
  
"Told you so," Em folded her arms as she opened the door, (which Mr. Watson, the landlord never locked) and grabbed the flashlight off the hook at the top of the stairs. She took one step down, and shone the light about the dark corner of the basement. Black water rushed around the floor, it must have been at least three feet deep at that point. Em tried to close the door over just slightly, so as not to wake anyone but it kept creaking open so she pulled it shut.  
  
"What is it, the water main?"  
  
Emily took some more steps down the stairs until she was at the waterline; I started to follow her but stopped a few steps behind. She shone the light to the far end of the basement on the gushing pipe hanging from the ceiling.  
  
"We got a leak, chief." "Come on, lets wake Mr. Watson."  
  
"Just a moment," Em said and forged a bit into the water.  
  
"What are you doing?" I demanded. There wasn't much she could do and watching Dawsons wade around in swirling pools of water was not on the top of my list.  
  
"Cooling off. It's really God damn hot."  
  
"Noooooo," I said sardonically.  
  
"Since when did you turn into Calvert?" Emily turned around as she waded further in.  
  
"Em, come back here! That's a...bad idea!"  
  
"Think of it this way...I'm an African grazing mammal and I'm cooling off at the water hole...overheat, silly human."  
  
"You're odd...and you were also the one wearing that ratty old bathrobe around when it's so hot."  
  
"What? I like it. Never let go of a good thing I always say." Just then she tossed the flashlight at me so she could float on her back. I caught it just before it rammed my nose.  
  
"Hey, watch it!"  
  
"You're no fun tonight." She went under for a second and my heart skipped a beat. I took another step down and placed the flashlight on the step above me and angled it–with some difficulty–letting in shine into the flooding room.  
  
"I'm tired, very tired. Quit wasting time. You're hair going to become very big and unattractive, Curly Head." Emily and I shared the same texture hair. I know what happens to certain types of curly hair after it gets wet–it can develop a wingspan.  
  
"So will yours!" she splashed me.  
  
"Stop it! Act your age!" I argued, nearly laughing, the cool water felt good in the stuffy heat. She splashed me again. I hopped in after her (with my night gown pulled up so it would not get wet) but didn't venture out any further than the bottom of the stairs.  
  
Em tried to move forward but stopped short. I just laughed at her for a moment, then she jerked again. "Ow!" she yelped and sucked in a breath of air.  
  
"What is it?" I asked.  
  
"I...I think it's that damn metal roping Watson uses to bolt the workbenches to the floor. My foot's caught."  
  
"Can you get loose?"  
  
"I'm tryin.' Give me a minute I think I can get it."  
  
Just then the leaky pipe burst and the middle dislodged, sending the metal tube soaring across the dark room.  
  
"Look out!" I screeched as we each ducked and dove under the water.  
  
"You alright?!" Em's head popped out just a second after mine.  
  
"Fine! You?!"  
  
Emily was still struggling with her foot.  
  
"Yeah!" I dove under and felt out her. I couldn't see a damned thing but I could feel the metal wire and accidentally felt where it had sliced her ankle and with a sudden jerk of Emily's foot I lost it again. After that I grabbed her leg and carefully lifted Emily little foot out of the roping, freeing her ankle.  
  
"Let's go!" I ordered and we struggled up the stairs with our wet nighties weighing us down.  
  
"It's not budging, Rose!" Emily was trying to rip the door open but it was futile, she was practically beating on it.  
  
"Help! Help! Let us out!" we shouted and pounded on the door but there was no help.  
  
"Fifty people live in this building! Why is no one coming?!" I cried.  
  
"Welcome to New York!" Emily shouted as she scrambled down the stairs. The water was climbing higher. "Come on! I'm gonna try the windows!"  
  
I followed her instinctively no longer slogging through the murky water but we were nearly swimming now.  
  
"I think I got it!" Emily pushed and pulled on the window. I swam around the other side and pulled with her. "Almost! Come on!"  
  
"Harder, Em!" We were swallowing now as we shouted.  
  
"Okay, all our might on three! One, two, three!" And on three we not only pulled the window not open but off!  
  
"Beautiful!" Em shouted as I pushed her backside up toward the open window.  
  
"You first! We know you fit!"  
  
Emily latched onto the frame with both hands and pulled up as I gave her a push from below. After Em I pulled myself up reaching my arm up into the dry night air, well, humid air but drier than the basement most obviously. Emily grabbed my offering hand and yanked me, painfully dragging my stomach across ground as she pulled me to safety.  
  
After a few minutes and panting in the alley, Emily looked at me and said, "You know, I never thought I'd drown in a basement."  
  
"Well, you can keep that thought now."  
  
"What's all the God damn racket about?" Mr. Watson the landlord came out in his robe and slippers.  
  
"Fix. The. Pipes." Emily breathed and walked past him.  
  
"Call the fire department, too," I added.  
  
An hour later we still outside as the fire department stopped the leak and cleaned up what they could, the police asked questions about the disturbance, and the other tenants and neighbors came to see about the commotion.  
  
"Sorry, ladies, I'm looking for two drowned rats that came along this way."  
  
"No but there's a really big Jewish one wandering around...I thought you didn't work the 'crap jobs with the bum squad.'" Emily asked George now standing over us on the street.  
  
Another cop walked by and gave him a dirty look. He had heard Emily.  
  
"Yes, but I answer the call of duty like the model civil servant I am...someone knocked on my door to let me know. I came down to make sure you were alright what I didn't expect was to find you two swimming around in the basement. You could have been hurt. Didn't they give you blankets? Smokes? Anything?" He looked around annoyed.  
  
I got up. "It's alright, George, it's too hot out for blankets."  
  
"Lemonade?" He half-heartedly finished his line of questioning. "You two can stay with me until we know the building's safe."  
  
"Thanks, Calvert! You're the best!" Emily hugged him and tugged my arm. "Let's get our stuff, it's a big old party tonight!" The "big old party" turned out to be nothing but quiet night. As soon as we put our things down, Emily flopped on George's bed, George on the old cot that was too small for him, and I on the couch.  
  
The other two seemed perfectly unconscious but I couldn't sleep, despite all the excitement from earlier that night. Dawn was approaching and I turned over toward the window to see the weak blue light creeping into George's modest, somewhat disorganized apartment. I groaned inwardly, not looking forward to doing the job tomorrow on no sleep. I wished I had been a girl again.  
  
"Mother, I think I'm sick. I'm so distressed. May I stay in, please? Please!" I would moan pathetically.  
  
"Alright, darling, you do look pale. I'll have Louisa fix you some tea. My poor, poor little girl, feel better." My mother would rub my head and brush my hair out of my face.  
  
I wasn't even directly thinking about Titanic, considering I had nearly drowned just hours earlier but I was trying...I just couldn't remember. Only flashes were coming back to me as I was lying there on George's couch–and that was only after a long time. At first there was nothing. For someone living with trauma I could recount the events quite well, quite calmly in my mind. But then I couldn't remember, I tried but when I finally could see something...water rushing, Jack, my mother...I thought I was choking. I got up and made my way to the bathroom...I couldn't remember where that was either and I had been to George's place at least once a week since I came to New York that year!  
  
Once I found it, I scrabbled to the toilet and stuck my head in it. After the violent bout of sickness I sat back on the cool wall, resting my head on the pipe. My chest hurt, my throat hurt, and my stomach was still turning. I closed my eyes and remembered nothing, not even what happened in my building's basement.  
  
"Hey, Red," a voice said softly from the door. I opened my eyes to George's figure standing over me.  
  
"Hi...I'm sorry...I got sick," I murmured like a child.  
  
"It's alright..." he crouched down next to me and rubbed my shoulder. "Do you want your toothbrush?"  
  
"That would be nice," I said weakly. He got up and looked at the alien affects gracing his bathroom sink.  
  
"Is this one yours?" he asked. I squinted, my eyes hurt, too.  
  
"No, that's Emily's," I pointed and waved vaguely, "the other one's mine." He put Em's toothbrush away and bent down to me again, toothbrush in hand.  
  
"May I?" he asked. I nodded. He wrapped his arm around my waist and lifted me up, and held me up and I brushed the awfulness out of my mouth.  
  
"I got it," I said so he would move out of the way to let me spit and rinse. "Alright," I said, placing the toothbrush on the sink and wiping my mouth, "I, uh, think I'm a...I think I'm fine now–" I lost my footing, weak from the calamity that night and all the memories it brought. George caught me on the way down, losing his own balance for a moment. When he regained it, he slid down on the wall, so we were resting on the floor again.  
  
He slowly moved my hair, which was an awful mess from the water, out of my face.  
  
"I don't think I feel very well," I chuckled weakly.  
  
"Well, it's not good to go flailing around like that on a full stomach, young lady." I groaned but I smiled, too. "You know, my house, where I grew up in New Jersey...our basement never floods, not when it rains out..."  
  
"Uh huh..." I said listening carefully and pressing one side of my face to his chest, right under his chin. He pulled me further onto his lap.  
  
"You see we live in Pascack Valley...well, uh, technically, but we're really on the hills around it...so it never floods, ever. It's a great house. Big but not too big. Big yard with a brook running just along the edge...lots of big maples and pines and oaks...my cousin is a builder. He and all his guys built it when I was a kid."  
  
"Do you miss it?"  
  
"Yeah...but I'm glad my parents are still there. It's a small comfort I've always been afforded."  
  
"George, my mother isn't dead."  
  
"What?" he said pulling away.  
  
"I lied. My mother never died. My father's dead, but she's still alive. I just haven't spoken to her in eight years. She thinks I'm dead. God, George," I looked at him, almost pleading, "do you know how much I've lied about? How many secrets I've made for myself?"  
  
I should have been telling Emily, but I was about to tell George. I vowed silence and I never meant to breathe a word to anyone but those with the last name Dawson...but I couldn't help telling him.  
  
"George..." I grabbed his shoulder, he grabbed my waist, no longer in control of myself I–  
  
Well, I might have done something had there not been a loud rap on the door.  
  
"Calvert!" shouted Jake Phelps, another undercover officer involved with Martin, "delivery's off. Martin don't suspect nothin' but he thinks the cops are catchin' up with him. It's working brilliantly. We could nail him in by the end of the summer." George shook his head, as if in a drunken state. "Sorry, Calvert. Did I wake you?"  
  
"Uh, I...no. Yeah. Yes, you did wake me. But it's alright."  
  
"I guess not everyone's up at 5:30. Sorry...well, call off your girls. This is perfect! Almost in our hands...oh, sorry, Calvert...you like sleep."  
  
"I like sleep." George waved and quietly shut the door.  
  
I had gotten on my feet by then, woozy from the nearly physical interaction moments earlier and disappointed that it was killed before consummation.  
  
"'Your girls'...I'm two years older than him."  
  
"Phelps is a jerk, but he's not a bad guy."  
  
"I'm nobody's woman, let alone 'girl,'" I said, letting my pride unintentionally crush the night's remaining potential.  
  
"Susan B. Anthony was very unfortunate not to have you as a publicity agent." He put his hand (a little awkwardly) on my shoulder.  
  
"I don't think she'd be caught dead wearing these." I picked up Emily's red, sequined dress and my black dancing dress that were draped over George large blue chair.  
  
"Yes, but luckily for us, she is very dead...and," he took Emily's dress from my hand, "she wears only the highest end designer clothing."  
  
"Actually, George, those are cheap knock-offs."  
  
"Ah, the Dawson girls...ever giving fashion the finger."  
  
I smiled. For a moment the old George that I had known so briefly had come back out of the blue. The funny Jersey Boy who always had a line, a comment, a joke. A little rude, but ever-endearing. Where did he come from?  
  
He smiled at me. His hand hadn't moved from my shoulder  
  
"Rose, Come home with me next week. We'll bring Emily, convince her to stay with my parents. Raise her up a nice Jewish girl."  
  
"Go home with you?" He sounded like I did earlier that day. "Yeah, just a little out of the city and into Bergen County. New Jersey...practical joke of the Northeast corridor...." he said, grinning. "But really...it's nice there. North Jersey is great, really."  
  
"I know. I've been around there before and you just told me in the bathroom when–"  
  
"Yeah. So you feeling better, Red?"  
  
"Uh, yes. Fine. Hundred percent."  
  
"Good, good. So, Jersey?"  
  
"I leave for California next week." I stepped back and George removed his hand.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I leave for California next week," I repeated. "I've got a contract. Film contract. It could mean my career–but I'll come back for as long as I can...as soon as I'm free."  
  
"California?"  
  
"It's a state, George."  
  
"I know. But...L.A.? Why?"  
  
"I live there."  
  
"I know. It was more of a verbal sigh than anything else."  
  
I half-frowned and half-smiled.  
  
"I'll be back in September...for as long as I can. I promise!"  
  
"You swear to come back."  
  
"I swear." I raised my right hand. "Scout's honor."  
  
"You better, Rose. You should come to Rosh Hashanah. If you don't I'll make you starve with me on Yom Kippur."  
  
"George, you eat on Yom Kippur."  
  
"Yes, but we're not telling my mother that. Are you coming back?"  
  
"Let's make an arrangement. We've got a good couple hours left to sleep. So if you let me sleep now, I'll do anything you ask or order me to do." "Deal. Have your grotesquely red self back here in September and you can sleep the whole weekend if you like." We shook hands and he felt my forehead. "Just making sure you're not coming down with anything..."  
  
The next week I was at Penn Station fumbling with my many pieces of luggage. I've never been able to mange going anywhere without half my material life. It was when I dropped one of my suitcases I realized I left the Heart of Ocean in a box under my bed. I had also left my completed Titanic letter to Emily in that same box.  
  
All for the best, I thought. I could a few months with them out of my site. But I still felt oddly panicked.  
  
"Hey, Rose!" I heard a familiar voice calling. It was George. He ran over and helped me my pick up my bags. "I got it, I got it," he said.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"Don't mention it. Just came to make sure your hair was still obscenely red."  
  
I held out a handful of strands in front of me. "Yes. All is well, Mr. Calvert."  
  
"Emily couldn't come. Had to stay at Joe's. But she sends her regards."  
  
"That's alright." Just then I could see my train coming. "Well," I shrugged, "that's me."  
  
"That's you."  
  
"I'm going now." I started walking backwards, behaving not unlike I did when I liked Stephen Wellington all through elementary school. I was devastated when my parents shipped me off to an all girls boarding school after the sixth grade.  
  
"Goodbye, Rose," George said quickly and pushed his face into mine, meaning to kiss me on the cheek. He missed.  
  
I leaned in kissed him back, firmly on the mouth. He brushed my hair, of which he was always a fan, out of my face.  
  
Then dropped my suitcase again and gathered up my things, laughing nervously. I ran onto the train, for fear of missing it. Once on I squeezed my way, almost in a panic, to an empty seat and a window.  
  
"George!" I called from the open window. "Over here!" He rushed over, unconsciously grabbing my hands.  
  
"Sorry about that...I missed!" George Calvert, age thirty, blurted out with his face growing red.  
  
I pulled him up by his shirt collar and kissed him again.  
  
"Apology accepted."  
  
He kissed me one more time as the whistle blew and the train began to move.  
  
"Write!" His hands began to slip from mine but we did not let go until the last second.  
  
"I will!" I shouted.  
  
When he was out of sight I curled up in my seat, still glowing. I had to admit, my timing was impeccable.  
  
September 16, 1920  
  
I had just gotten home that morning. I had been writing to George and Emily as often as I could but the letters on each side were rushed and impersonal. But by the end of August I had received a couple from Emily that were disturbingly spare and a couple from George, worried. Asking me to come back as soon as possible, but nothing to suggest that that kiss in the station had ever even happened. I felt my heart sinking. Foolish anyway. Involve myself with George? Falling in love with me was dangerous. Bad things always happened. Bad things that couldn't happened to my great friend George.  
  
The cab dropped me off in front of my building. I had a slight cough that week so I pulled out my handkerchief as my throat was feeling scratchy and wiped my nose a bit too. There was a little blood on it. I tapped my nose with my finger. I'd had a bad cold that winter and my nose bled once. Oh, this is gross. Damn cold. I hoped I wasn't coming down with anything that would prove terribly inconvenient.  
  
When I got home with all my things–which no one helped me carry no one was home. My bedroom was disorderly. It had been in perfect order when I left. Some one had been tampering. And the picture of me outside Joe's had been stolen from my dresser but all the others left as they were. I was already annoyed at the two of them, George and Emily for their bad, uncaring letters. Now this? Going through my things? Stealing?  
  
But it was worse. Far worse.  
  
Under my bed, my secret box had been opened and the letter and the diamond were missing. There was a note inside replacing.  
  
Found your note. Nice story. -ESD  
  
What? Had Em gone mad? I ran out into the living room, across to Emily's bedroom. It had been torn apart. My heart began to race. What happened? Did Emily do this? Did someone else?  
  
I ran downstairs to the phone and called George. It was lunchtime by then. He should be at his desk...I hoped.  
  
I got George, hearing his voice for the first time in months, my heart ached, it cried. George told me a broken, rushed story. He was almost on his way out when I called, he was nearly panicking. There had been an explosion on Wall Street and Emily might be there, he had said. I began to panic. I began sweat. But it was the bits of back story I got that reduced me to the floor, whimpering like a wounded dog.  
  
I screamed once, dropped the phone, scrambled to my feet and ran outside. There was no time to cry. No time to vomit as usual. There was only time to react. Nothing to do but get to the corner of Wall Street and Broad Street.  
  
How? Why?  
  
I couldn't think about what I'd heard. I could only run. 


	34. Little Miss Dawson

More bad slurs (they're much worse in this chapter) that do not reflect the opinions of this author.. Just being safe with another disclaimer.  
  
July 4, 1920  
  
Emily Dawson skated around the corner and stopped at the library. Lately, she'd rekindled her interest in Tudor England and had this time remembered to return her book on time. She glanced at her watch. Almost noon. She'd left Sonny and Milton in charge of Joe's and thought of taking an hour or two to stroll and grab lunch someplace else. She was boss and Sonny and Milton were more friends than employees, therefore, they'd just have to suffer if she came back an hour later than she said she would.  
  
She was thankful, too. Joe's was also close for three hours from eight to eleven so she and the boys could meet Calvert at the docks for the fireworks that night. And what a great Independence Day it was! Sunny and clear but not too hot for July. Perfect!  
  
Emily ungracefully clunked her way up the cement stairs of the Central Building of the New York Public Library at the corner Fifth Avenue and Forty-Second Street in her roller skates, not bothering to take them off as she skated under the gigantic columns and one of the archways, even after she ahd entered the library. In fact, she pulled a pack of Lucky's from her pocket and noticed she had three left. Smiling, she pulled one out and, holding the cigarette between her fingers, she glided through the first floor, evoking some faces of shock and horror (and a few giggles) from the other patrons and librarians. When she arrived her destination she stopped and placed the book on Anne Boleyn in on Mrs. Dursley's desk.  
  
Mrs. Dursley looked over her long, serious nose, through her glasses.  
  
"Lookie, it's on time," Emily said childishly.  
  
"There is no roller skating allowed in the library, Miss Dawson!"  
  
"Gee, where's it written." Emily quite enjoyed torturing people. Mrs. Dursley was among her favorites.  
  
Emily skated off as if the librarian no longer existed, eager to get outside in the sunshine. And upon exiting the building, whilst still under the archway, she lit up her cigarette and took a satisfying drag. To follow that, she tilted her head to stretch her arms in an exaggerated sigh of satisfaction with herself.  
  
Unfortunately, Emily paid for that one. The wheels on her feet slid forward and out from under her and sent her toppling flying over the first flight of stairs.  
  
Emily screamed and landed with great force into someone's arms. She stared up at her rescuer, as she stood diagonally and pin straight as he held her up. He examined the girl, shocked by the lucky catch. She was of small build, a wiry-looking girl, raven-haired with piercing blue eyes. Something about her was child-like, maybe it was the stripped cotton candy pink blouse, maybe it was the little bow that held up half her hair. Maybe it was the look in her eyes, she seemed both innocent and vicious.  
  
Emily had rarely allowed anyone to rescue her so she herself took a good look. He was older than her but certainly not old, mid to late thirties perhaps, rather handsome and of solid build. He had dark hair and dark eyes. But remembering that this damsel in distress was Emily Dawson and not anyone else, it's no surprise that it was not the man's striking good looks or the rescue that might have inspired young Emily, but it was his hat. She liked his fedora. Emily loved fedoras and this one was particularly stylish.  
  
"Are you alright?" he asked, still holding her as she was.  
  
"I like your hat," she said stupidly, "Er, I mean, I'm fine...thank you."  
  
He propped her back up on her feet and Em slipped again. And any random act of chivalry can certainly be followed by another. He caught her again.  
  
"You know," he said, throughly amused, "these steps aren't the best place for roller skates." He laughed as he identified the cause of the mishap.  
  
"Well, this city isn't the best place to be a single girl on her own, but I guess I just like to break all the rules...just a minute, I think I'll be good today. Best take these things off."  
  
The man helped her sit down and took off her skates.  
  
"You should be more careful," he said patronizingly. Em frowned a little but he seemed to mean well.  
  
"Yes, but unfortunately I'm Emily instead." She stuck out her hand in her usual cocky manner and smiled her usual cocky smile that she knew was irresistible to anyone that didn't know her better. "Emily Dawson."  
  
She flustered her rescuer who was embarrassed that he'd forgotten to introduce himself but he received her hand and shook it anyway.  
  
"Excuse. I did not introduce myself sooner."  
  
"Aint' no crime."  
  
"Caledon Hockley."  
  
"Sounds fancy, Mr. Hockley." Hockley...sounds familiar...  
  
"Cal, please."  
  
"Well, Cal," Emily popped to her feet before assistance could be offered, "you'll have to call me Emily then. Plain old 'Em' if you're feelin' lazy."  
  
"Well, then. May I walk you home, Emily?"  
  
"I'm not going home. I'm going to lunch."  
  
"I can buy you lunch. It would be a nice treat after a nasty shock."  
  
"Nasty shock? You obviously haven't been on my block." Emily said without thinking. She immediately felt embarrassed. "But I'll take you up on the lunch..." Handsome man in a fedora AND free lunch. This was a great day indeed.  
  
Lunch had led to a leisurely stroll with Cal. But somewhere between friendly conversation (and admittedly a little flirting) something had gone terribly wrong. Her handsome rescuer had started by making some fleeting complaint about all the "Negroes and Italians" in the area. He wasn't fan. In his opinion, they were what were keeping mid-town "a slum." That, and those sneaky Irish; there were far too many of them taking jobs away from Americans.  
  
"Honestly, how many of them are on that God forsaken island? They just keep coming. I can tell, I can't produce as much steel as they produce children!" He meant that as joke but Em didn't laugh.  
  
"They produced me," she said bluntly.  
  
Cal was caught completely off-guard. Emily continued to frown.  
  
After that set-back things later developed, though I'm unsure how, into this:  
  
"I run own my joint. I own it. You know that? So don't patronize me like a little girl. And I'm not. I'm twenty-one. Only a few of my friends are even white like me and we're all poor. Do you know what it's like to have people just be able to look at you to decide you don't bloody count but I can't exactly get rid of these and grow something else!" she hissed gesturing to her chest.  
  
"I apologize, but my God you're vulgar!" Cal sneered. "Maybe the reason you're still stuck in Hell's Kitchen isn't because you're a woman. It's because you don't act with any decorum whatsoever. You're brash and rude and self-centered."  
  
"Self-centered?! You don't even know me!" "I wasn't attacking you but you immediately thought it meant you and all that you stood for, didn't you?"  
  
"You did, you creep. I am friends with people that aren't white. I'm Irish and I'm poor!" This was partly a lie, though Em was working class through and through, she'd managed to make a decent living for herself but refused to move out of Hell's Kitchen (much to George's chagrin.)  
  
"Yes, but even with your pretty little face and your batting eyelashes, you're still the type that looks for a fight." He turned around walked away. And he never turned around.  
  
Emily still waited, she knew she'd look like an idiot if she shouted at his back, but she needed her rebuttal. This wasn't fair!  
  
True, he was a bastard. He was a stuck-up bastard and he should have never have gotten mixed-up (even just for lunch) with that kind. The rich guy she'd ever met that didn't think she was stealing or tried to use her was Calvert. And Calvert wasn't all that rich and he didn't exactly have blue blood running through his veins.  
  
Emily decided she hated Cal Hockley and all of his kind, and would not go looking for him–even though he had her skates. She was angry about that especially but she decided to sacrifice them for the cause. What cause she didn't know.  
  
She also decided his fedora wasn't all that great either.  
  
Emily walked into Joe's in a sour mood. It was closed for the fireworks until eleven so only Sonny and Milton remained, cleaning and looking almost as sour as Em.  
  
"Nice of you to show up," said Milton from the stool on the little stage as he cleaned the piano with a rag. Emily just grunted and decided not to notice that Milton was near unflappable and that he must be rather angry with her to throw out such a careless comment.  
  
"You've been gone almost eight hours and you don't even say nothin'!" Sonny huffed.  
  
"It's 'anything,'" she muttered.  
  
"Oh, don't you start going on about my English. Who do think you are, Rose? You've gotten a mouth fouler than my john."  
  
"Fine! You know, I pay you bastards. Don't give me any lip or I'll bloody yours!" she stormed behind the counter to get herself a drink.  
  
"Sue us for worrying. We almost called Calvert." No one heard Milton. "When does Rose come back? I could use her right now." Still, he was ignored.  
  
"What? Did Irving ditch you?" Sonny spat.  
  
"That ain't your place. I stopped seeing him a month ago. Milton, you know. Tell him!"  
  
"Now you know this ain't my little love triangle," Milton said, not looking up from his rag and the piano.  
  
"Who were you with?" Sonny demanded.  
  
"None of your business, Santino!"  
  
Just then the bells on the door jingled and entered the last person (next to Sonny) that Emily wanted to talk to.  
  
"What are you doin' here? How did you find me?" Emily put her hands on her hips.  
  
"You forgot your skates," said Cal. "Thought you might want them."  
  
"I'll take them, sir, girl may bite at the moment," Milton walked over and held out his hand.  
  
"I'll take them, thanks," Sonny argued.  
  
"Honestly, wouldn't recommend talkin' to the lady, but you can give them to old Sonny here," Milton conceded to Sonny. Milton never liked to get involved with anything confrontational.  
  
Cal took a good look at the two dark young men. Dawson hadn't lied. He shoved the skates into Sonny's arms and walked to Emily behind the counter.  
  
"Only us niggers, wops, and cunts in here. What's your interest?" Emily said quietly but clearly.  
  
"I apologize for before. Please forgive me." It was his only stammering answer to the disgusting words that had just come out of the pretty young woman's pretty young mouth. She'd even called herself a cunt to make her point. Cal had what he publically called "reservations" about "certain peoples" and he did, like all of his stature, conform to the common opinions of the time. All of which put the people in the room, the girl in front of him, the black man and the Italian man, into categories below his own. For the first in time in a long time, Cal felt terribly uncomfortable about those thoughts.  
  
Emily could just look at him. She had no retort, save for "why?" but that didn't sound very clever to her. So she said nothing. Cal also said nothing but continued to look on uncomfortably, mostly at Emily.  
  
The door bells jingled again.  
  
"We'll be late, you peop–am I interrupting something?" George had burst in.  
  
Milton, who got antsy doing anything but playing his sax, looked as if he desperately wanted to be cleaning the bar. Sonny looked ready eat everyone in the bar in front of their mothers. Emily looked...odd. And the tall, dark man in the nice fedora and tailored suit looked quite out of place on this side of town.  
  
"I was just leaving," said Cal.  
  
"Hello there, do I know you by any chance?" George squinted.  
  
"I don't believe so," Cal sighed, trying to get his wits about him. There was a comfort in the way the big brown-haired man carried himself. He had a way about him that suggested he had not been raised like the other three. A cleaner accent, better English, like he had gone to college.  
  
"George Calvert. Lieutenant Calvert with the police. These are my good friends in here." George didn't mean for the police title to sound so emphasized but he figured his mere presence comforted the stranger. He hadn't decided whether he liked him or not but George knew the man in the fedora could smell his money.  
  
"Caledon Hockley." They shook hands.  
  
"Hockley! Pleased to meet you. I'm a good friend of Holden's. Great damn squad leader."  
  
"Oh, so you're the Calvert."  
  
"I am the Calvert." Now George was of coursed biased against Cal, being close with Holden but he was going to hold his tongue.  
  
"Having a little reunion are we?" Emily folded her arms.  
  
"No biting today, Em. Please." George wondered what had gotten her so worked up. Emily was about to tell him this was her place and that she gave the orders but she wasn't good with words today and she swallowed it. "How's Holden?"  
  
"He's well. I'm sure you've been hearing from him."  
  
Milton and Sonny exchanged glances. This was a weird little scene.  
  
"I haven't in a month or so but that's Holden," George laughed awkwardly.  
  
"Well, I ought to be going," Cal was looking for the quickest way out with knocking something over and choking the wretch behind the counter...or slighting his brother in front of his large, muscular friend.  
  
"Should you ever find yourself in this neighborhood again, you know who to look up," George nodded.  
  
"I hope the day finds all of you well," Cal tipped his hat. Emily tried to look at the fedora and not his face. "Happy Fourth."  
  
That night after the fireworks, George stopped Emily on her way back to Joe's.  
  
"Oh, come on, George, I'm tired and I gotta work more tonight," Emily moaned.  
  
"Keep your distance from Hockley." He tugged her arm as they were jostled by throngs of people heading home or heading to celebrate some more.  
  
"What makes you think I want to be anywhere near that stupid bastard?"  
  
"Just...keep to that sentiment."  
  
"Believe me I am."  
  
"I saw the way you were looking at him. I know when you're putting up a front. Don't start warming up to him anymore than you have. I don't trust him and Holden wouldn't lie...too much..." George paused for a moment, thinking about his friend.  
  
"Okay, okay. What more do you want from me?"  
  
"Also," he sighed.  
  
"Also what?"  
  
"Martin's missing some of the last delivery," he whispered.  
  
"It was picked up. I just gave it to the guy when he gave me the booze. He must have done something with it."  
  
"You sure?"  
  
"Of course! Why wouldn't I be sure?"  
  
"The same pick-up guy's coming by in two days, please make sure nothing goes wrong and find out what happened to the rest of that God damn poison he sold or used or whatever...or you'll owe Martin money. This could be you'd be cut off...which means we lose leads."  
  
"Yeah, I know."  
  
"No, you obviously don't," he tightened his grip on her arm.  
  
"George, you're hurting me."  
  
"This is dangerous and one more thing like this and you're out and on the train to Jersey."  
  
"I'm twenty-one and I make more money than you by now! Don't treat me like a child!"  
  
"No, I'm treating you like someone who actually cares about what happens to you. You need to get out of here. Maybe go to school, make something of yourself where you can walk the streets at night, maybe settle down. Why are you staying here?"  
  
"Why are you?" she stuck her nose in his face.  
  
"Em, don't start."  
  
"Maybe you could move back in with your folks at thirty, go into insurance with your old man. But oh no, Maybe Johnny Culbreth'll kill another Mary McBride."  
  
"Stop."  
  
"Maybe you could run away and live in California with Rose or maybe she'll lose her mind and live in this place forever with you. You think we're stuck here because we can't afford someplace else? No, we're just stuck by things more powerful and ain't nobody gonna change that. No, not even Rose. Why do you think she left? You think she's coming back to this shit? She only came because she felt bad because she'd made it after the war and you haven't. And remember this, George Calvert, I lost Mary too! I was there! I can't have her back but I'll take back what I can! I'm not such a coward to sit back on it!" she hissed viciously.  
  
Emily had stepped on George's last and most sensitive nerves–very much on purpose. He just stared for a moment.  
  
"Go home and stay out of my sight." And he walked away.  
  
Emily felt strange, she wanted to cry–although she waited to do that once she got home as she had skipped out on returning to Joe's again, saddling Milton and Sonny with the work. She hadn't had her feelings hurt this bad–or hurt anybody so badly in a long time. Why on earth then, was she thinking about Cal Hockley and that stupid fedora as she curled feebly under her covers that night. 


	35. Little Miss Dawson

The three days later Emily was still in a volatile mood. She spoke little and gave even less explanation as to why she had not come back the on the night of the Fourth.

"About the other night...sorry," she muttered to Sonny and Milton, "I'll make it up to you." She walked past them into the kitchen, looking only at her feet.

Sonny was about to protest but Milton put his hand on his arm.

"She apologized for something...don't ruin the moment..." Milton smiled wryly and hopped over the bar, whistling as he pushed open the kitchen doors. "Time for my mid-morning piss as it were." Sonny sighed and went back to work setting up tables. He was beginning to consider working for his father again, at the grocery store. At least Milton had some talent fall back–at least he did what he loved come nightfall. There was not much for Sonny. If Emily's moods were going to get worse and if she wasn't a little more careful with the Irish mob she was going to wind up in more trouble than Sonny cared to think about. He didn't want to wind up dead like his brother, Carmine.

She never left or took a break for lunch and Milton and Sonny went out to eat someplace, most likely sick of the same food at Joe's day after day. Emily empathized but chose to mind to place by herself as she had wanted to be alone lately. She had not seen George since that night and cared not to think about it. Lucky for her it was a slow afternoon. By one the only table was filled by a two neighborhood teenagers and regular patrons, Susan Welsh and Becky Trevors.

Then her luck changed. Whether for better or for worse even Em didn't know. Her stomach lurched, she didn't need this now.

"Hello, Miss Emily," he said as he smoothly tipped his fedora as he approached the bar.

"Hello, er, Mr. Cal..." she said awkwardly, trying to copying him but upon hearing the phrase "er, Mr. Cal," she felt painfully stupid. "Uh...what are doing back here again?" she said with a hint of accusation. Emily had inherited the philosophy of "a good offense is the best defense" from her mother.

"Well, I'm much like the tide, you see. I go away and come back again."

"Well, so does tuberculosis, Cal, but don't take it personally," said Emily casually.

Cal was not sure whether to be insulted or laugh. After all, it was quite clever. He also had to remember, there was no allegiance this girl owed to him. She could say whatever she liked to him without any consequence, it was a hard lesson he'd learned years ago.

"Pulmonary or extra-pulmonary?" _There, I can be clever too,_ thought Cal.

"I could ask your opinion on where you'd rather infect but I don't want to be gruesome in front of the other patrons."

"Well, I'm not necessarily a patron...I wanted to know for sure if I was forgiven..." he glanced down for a moment, fiddling with his hat in his hands.

"Possibly. But I think we just agreed upon your frightening similarities to TB."

"Would dinner change your mind?" He shoved his left hand into his pocket.

"Depends. You gonna infect me?"

"On my honor." Hockley held up his hand, shaking his head.

Emily just made a date. With an older man. With a rich man. With a handsome man. That possessed social graces. New and exciting things were most definitely happening in the small world of Emily S. Dawson.

Then she thought about George. She felt a little guilty, but put it out of her head. If nothing came of dinner, George never need know. If something did, well, Em was going to prove him wrong. 

"All my 'nice' clothes are...whore clothes..." Emily threw aside her sparkling red dress on to the floor. Then she sprinted to my bedroom, scavenging my closet and armoire for anything I left behind. She pulled out a black evening and examined it critically. Then she pulled out an old taffeta one, navy blue with thin gauzy sleeves. _It's too tight now but I don't have the heart to throw it out_, I once told her. I was almost as thin as Em after the war, but by then I was back to my full weight.

Emily tried on the dress, it was a little roomy in the bust and she knew she would trip over the hem if she walked. Emily nodded quickly and remedied the situation. Within in five minutes she was wearing her boots (which gave her more height than her heels, no one would notice) and her bust was stuffed. It was the first time she stuffed herself since the eighth grade. But now it looked perfect, no sign of a rumple anywhere. She stuffed her hair up under a sleek black cap.

As she headed for the door she nearly grabbed her old tan trench coat but opted for my clothes instead and pulled out from my armoire a luxurious-looking black fur coat. She did not know that at the time I bought it I could not afford real fur. She could not tell the difference either.

Skipping downstairs she was already feeling hot in the summer heat combined with the faux fur, not as warm as real fur but still deadly in July. But it was the first time since her father was alive that she had ever gone to any place fancy and she wanted to impress her date–who she knew was so incomprehensibly out her league it...it made her realize her place in life. Cal Hockleys didn't consort with Emily Dawsons...no matter how big they talked. She was a nobody and she knew it.

"You look lovely," said Cal without a moment's hesitation. She wondered if he meant or if he was putting on airs. They were in front of Joe's, she did not want Cal to see where she lived.

"Er, thanks..." Emily muttered nervously. She moved to the side as mother with a fussing toddler passed.

"Aren't you hot?" he said with without the slightest hint of pretension, but then again, it was rather silly for Em to be wearing such a coat in July.

"Yeah...but it goes with the hat."

Cal chuckled.

"You needn't get so overdressed," he chuckled again.

Emily felt as if someone just dropped lead in her stomach. They never said where they were going...he was just wearing a regular suit. Nothing fancy.

"Sorry," Emily sighed, "damn it..."

Cal felt a sudden surge of guilt. The poor girl thought she was being taken for a nice night on the town. She had worn a coat that was too warm and obviously fake fur. After he relieved her of it, he noticed her breasts were noticeably bigger. Either she was not as self-assured as she put-on or she was wearing a borrowed dress.

All of his old college buddies had a mistress or a girlfriend on the side for at least a time. Cal had wandered into friendly company every once and a while but never formed any long term extra attachment other than his wife, Mariah. He never cared enough about anyone. Though he loved his wife he was never really in love with her and she often bored him. But then again so did the few women whose company he'd taken.

Emily Dawson excited him. He didn't care if she was a nobody. He had not been excited by a women in eight years and he wanted to know this woman. He wasn't sure what he was thinking, what would ever come of this, perhaps he wasn't thinking. He wasn't thinking when he slipped his ring into his left pocket that afternoon. She was practically a street kid, what made him think she would care if he was married?

To make up for her embarrassment he took her to a small French restaurant, The Red Mill, where no one he knew would frequent but no one she knew would be likely to waltz in either. Calvert, being a friend of his brother, Holden, would never warm up to him unless something drastic happened. He knew Holden's old sergeant was not one to be toyed with either, best to avoid the bugger all together.

"You're the most underdressed person here," Emily smiled from across the table.

"So I've noticed," Cal looked around, and inwardly laughed. For the first time he was the one who lacked class. The girl across from his however looked stunning, he'd never met one quite like her. She was up to standard, the great Cal Hockley looked almost like your average man, if it were not for the way he carried himself. But it felt strangely freeing. It was like being among his best friends at Harvard, he could just be a normal person.

They talked for hours as they walked up and down some of the safer and more pleasing areas of Manhattan. They talked for hours about anything they were willing to mention. Emily started philosophical small talk to avoid her dead family and her friends who were not fans of Cal, she thought it best not mention either me either, I, like George would probably not like him. Apt, wasn't she? Though she did mention her roommate was in actress and in California for the summer, letting him know no one would bother them at her place...though she did not like the idea of taking him back there.

Cal never mentioned his wife or his children. Or Titanic. He still could not comprehend what happened that night, he stopped allowing himself to think about it. Too much guilt and pain.

He talked about Hockley Steel but left out the part about the cheap steel they sold during the War to save money and manufacture faster as the demand drastically increased. It wasn't his idea but he did go along with it after a little persuasion. That was guilty and painful too, his brother had been out there while he was making bad steel for the military. It was hard now for him to do anything he was proud of.

Then a another strange twinge of pain crossed Cal's heart like cold steel. He didn't know why but at some point on the street, Emily had looked him directly in the eyes, perhaps lobbying for a kiss. Her eyes...they bothered him. They frightened him.

There was nothing wrong with them or even particularly beautiful about them. They were a watery blue and complimented the rest of her face well, but...it was the stare. They were probing and invasive and familiar as if they stared him down before.

"What?" she said, obviously perplexed, but still looking him straight in the face.

"N-nothing, nothing." Stupid of him to be afraid of a couple eyes. She was just a girl, not some sort of strange omen. "Listen, I haven't been entirely forthcoming..."

"About what?" she said with a edge of panic and curiosity.

"I never said where I lived....I'm live in Pittsburgh. I'm...I've only got another week here. I was here on business and then to get some time to myself here to take in New York...I'm just here temporarily. I like you, Emily..." _I like you? Am I a little boy?_ "I know it's only been a few days, a night really but I want to...stick around...? I mean, get to know you–and not in a way in which I'd be expecting anything but...I've never had a friend like you."

"You mean poor?"

"Like that! You're not afraid to say anything! Not of who you are or what I am."

"I'm afraid of things...like all the things I never told you tonight..."

"Then get to know me," he grabbed her shoulders excitedly, and she was not startled like most women he had known, "why shouldn't we be friends? I haven't had friends since school that were...not trying to be something to impress me because of my family...or try to knock me down for the same reasons..." he thought of someone for moment. "Emily–"

"You think this outfit wasn't trying to impress you because I knew you were too good for me!" she said incredulously. "This whole night, what do you think it's been about?!"

"See you just said it. You just admitted the truth. I don't know truthful people, I'm certainly not one of them..." Cal said nothing after that, and kept repeating his last words in his head. He'd never admitted that to himself before.

"Well, when you come back to New York," said Em, she realized this was a fool's errand to begin with, "you know where to find me. We'll get lunch....I like you too. But people like us, well, don't...aren't friends..."

"Well, damn the rules. Do you like me or not?:

"Well, considering I just stated that I did..." Em squinted, she might be starting a fight now.

"Look me up when you come back. I've done this before, only difference is this is not your world. Mine's a dangerous one, Hockley. Believe me."

Cal was feeling reckless. He had seen the rules broken once at his own expense, why couldn't he break rules? Why couldn't he be exciting? Why couldn't he walk away from this girl without some sort of promise? He was desperate for this bond and he didn't know why.

"I don't know why I want this but I do."

"Then you can have it," she paused, "when you come back to New York. You don't live here."

She turned and walked away, feeling more like lead with every step. Before her knees buckled from under her, she turned around again ran back.

"Listen," she said and Cal waited for her to speak. But she didn't know what she going to say. "...shit." She looked at the ground awkwardly, turned away to leave and turned back again a second later.

She kissed him.

He kissed her back gingerly and slowly with gaining force but still bowing to Emily aggressive mouth. He hugged her tightly after it was over as she rested her head on his shoulder. She didn't want to be a slut and submit but she needed him now.

"I'm staying not far f-from here," he said, embarrassed. "But if you want I'll wait. Or not at all. I won't ask a thing of you."

"Do I look so innocent?" Emily said quietly, looking at him now.

"Sometimes," Cal smiled weakly.

She blinked slowly, he watched every feature on her face. She was almost magical.

She took his hand and told him that she was not–and that she was neither proud nor ashamed of it. "I'm a big girl and I've known and seen a lot," she told him. He accepted that.

They walked together toward Cal's room, hand in hand like young sweethearts. It was 1 in the morning by the time they reached it.

Upstairs, they made love, it was not carefree nor calm, it was not violent nor tender. But it was something powerful and tangible and comforting. Every desire or tiny hope they had been longing for–or ignoring, had been given to them. Cal wanted to feel something and he felt everything for this strange new woman. Emily had let someone into her thoughts, but most importantly, her fears...without the paternal judgement George had so often placed on her.

They were free of all that at least for the night. And for the morning they drifted in and out of sleep, lying peacefully in the others' arms.

After a quiet breakfast, the reality of daylight had settled in on them. They could have passion but there could be no love. Love was impossible, they had silently agreed. An affair, a romance...those were in their grasp. But each denied themselves what they truly wanted...they wanted to fall in love and have somebody to love.

_Pretty girl  
Don't you waste a word  
For I can't love you  
Not ever... _

It was dawn. Emily sat on the arm chair and stared out of the window, wearing on of Cal's shirts. He watched her watching nothing, staring at nothing but the stillness outside. For once the City seemed quiet and for once so did Emily. She sighed wonderfully and his heart nearly leapt out his throat.

_Take this afternoon  
Recall our sexual mood  
But I'm not lovin' you  
Not ever..._

Cal knew right well that he was married and Emily had a feeling he might be. She had chosen not to think about that until this morning. She was also thinking of George and her little apartment in Hell's Kitchen. She wondered what Cal's house looked like. She turned around to look at him.

_See that southern sky  
Driftin' past the lies  
It won't judge you or I  
Not ever..._

It was only a matter of time before they were torn apart and they knew it. Cal said nothing, he knew this was the time not to say anything. He approached her as her lovely face looked into his. He did not bend down for another kiss but simply put his hand on her shoulder. She put hand over his and he moved closer, letting her back rest against his warm chest. She closed her eyes so she could no longer see anything. 

"Not Ever" by The Proclaimers


	36. Little Miss Dawson

Emily went back home and she gave no explanation to anyone. George never asked her again about what she was up to; time to let her grow up and time for him to stop twisting the knife every time she was walking into a mistake. Cal went back to Pittsburgh, and wrote Emily from his office as "E. Dawson" sans title and Emily wrote him to his business address as "E.S. Plunkett, MD."

He returned on the first day of August "on business" to see Emily again. The three days later when he was New York he took Emily out on the town to the best places and bought her the best clothes. He took her back to his rooms each night and made love to her until they both slumped down, with no fire left inside them and their bodies throbbing in pain.

His friends were proud of him for his young girl's beauty and pleased for him that he had found a regular mistress that truly cheered his heart. Cal found it so strange and so alien that he did not care for their happy remarks; he was almost offended. But for what? Of course, he was terribly found of Emily for her wonderful friendship, her explosive and startling love-making, and her giddy sense of humor. His good friend, his delectable young lover, and, surprisingly, his intellectual equal. But in all logic, he didn't love her. He told himself that every night.

On the third day Cal swung by Joe's for a quick afternoon visit before their rendezvous that night, but only to find Sonny and Milton. "With Calvert" was the only explanation he received for Emily's absence. He left feeling nervous. Everyone there knew about him and Emily, even the two teenagers who always took a seat in the back. What were their names, Becky Something and Susan Something-or-other? He was shocked at himself for remembering even half of their names. Perhaps it was because they always giggled at him on their way out. They knew.

But "With Calvert." _Why the surge of jealously? _ Calvert was important to her but there was never the slightest indication she wanted him. Maybe, thought he, it was simply that there was a man Emily might trust more than him. He knew Calvert was her only family and that Calvert hated him. It so to know Emily would always love George Calvert and may never love him. But as he reminded himself, he was not in love with Emily.

Every step to the 18th Precinct pulled him down like concrete blocks—and it got worse once he was inside the building until he reached a door that read "Lt. G. Calvert" on the frosted glass window.

"Kissing someone in public? You're getting wild now, Calvert! You really kissed her good—in public! You mean _on_ the mouth, _in_ the mouth!" Cal heard his lovely little rascal giggle and scold.

"Listen. It just happened and you're lucky I'm telling you this at all. Not a word when she gets home," said Holden's not-so-lovely, not-so-little friend.

"What? You keeping the honeymoon a secret, little Callie?"

"I'm not you're damn boyfriend, don't call me 'Callie.' And sometimes life is a little too complicated to marry every broad you lay a hand on."

"I could use that name for him too…" Emily mused. Cal could hear an audible groan from her friend Calvert. "And come on. She's not some broad, in fact, she'd be mad at you if she heard that. You've probably thought about her since you plucked her off the street a long time ago."

"Em," George sighed, "you know…"

"I know _you_. I think she knows you like her now. I think she likes you back. And I think you need to give her the other half of that story."

"Don't give a life lecture."

"Don't be so damn ornery."

Cal knocked now. The last thing he wanted to hear was details of George Calvert's love life and whatever dolt woman had captured his fancy.

"Sorry if I'm interrupting anything…" Cal muttered.

"No. Nothing important," said Calvert shortly. There was a long moment of itchy, awkward silence and as always Calvert broke it the worst way possible. Coarse fool.

"Em, get out for a minute," he said.

"Aw Jesus, George!" Emily folded her arms and stood her ground.

"Do it as a favor. I want to have a chat with your friend, Dawson! See," he walked over to Cal, who wanted very much to run away, "Brother of my best friend. I won't do him any harm. Seriously, I promise, Hockley, not a hair out of place." He wave his hand at Cal.

"He just wants to talk, Emily," Cal tried to reassure her—though he didn't trust Calvert himself. He knew about his wife.

"I'm not just any woman! You can't treat me like a child! Nobody can!" Em protested. "Not _you_," she pointed her finger at George menacingly, "and not you either!" Cal pulled back. He had never seen her order him like that. Emily walked out with her head high and proud, giving George a look that reminded him that he was not her father.

"Listen, Hockley," George breathed after Emily's footsteps died out down the hall.

"The two of you are better than this I think," Cal started.

"Better than what? The fighting?"

"All this," Cal thought, "she's got too much potential. A high graduate and a college graduate. People like you don't stick around these places, let alone move there."

"Yeah, and married men shouldn't fool around with young girls."

"That's…that's…" Cal shook his head, "just out of line!"

"_You_ are out of line. If she's gonna find a man, she needs one that'll marry her. That girl won't be stuck in this place running around married men that'll go back to their wives."

"Well, don't get jealous, Calvert." He wanted to make peace with this man but he wasn't about to let one of Holden's ridiculous friends accuse lecture him like some moron.

"You tell her about your wife and you end this. You too have your fun now give her a chance to start her own life—before she gets attached. Don't do that to her."

Cal leaned across the desk and stared fixedly at George.

"If I could switch her with my wife I would…" He backed off, unsure then, of where exactly he was going. "I didn't pick her for a good time. I don't want my children to wind up like Holden and me. I think you know about that."

"You say that after a month of knowing her?"

"It's better than waiting years and never lifting a single finger. I'd rather choose the wrong woman first than let a good woman get older alone because I bury myself in the past—"

Cal didn't finish his last attack because George had him pinned to the wall—with one hand.

"Don't fuck with me, Hockley," George said quietly. Cal tried to speak but couldn't. "Don't fuck me, Hockley," George repeated, "no…no, we wouldn't want to do that."

"You're crazy!" Cal gasped as George released him.

"No, Caledon, crazy is when I cut off your pride and hang in the town square as an example. Got that? I don't want to see a hair out of place on Dawson's head."

Emily burst in at that moment and took Cal by the arm about to pull him out the door until she noticed the maniacal smile on George's face.

"This is stopping right now! Calvert, I can't believe you!"

"He's married!" George pointed vehemently.

"Don't you think I know that?" Em shot bluntly.

"You what?!" Cal and George were both in accord for once.

"The ring was in your coat pocket," Emily looked around. "Yes, I look through these things. Better a wedding ring than a knife. There's a difference between a marriage contract and a true marriage."

"Oh, so then it's not cheating," George grumbled and folded his arms.

"Let's go, Cal," Emily jerked her head toward the door. "My life is _my_ life, George." She nodded to Cal again and Cal stepped out the door.

"Wow, Dawson, you've got him trained."

"Stop trying to run my life or you'll find yourself out of it soon enough," Emily glared icily.

"You think he'll leave his wife for you?"

"It's not a real marriage! It's a dead half-love!"

"The reason," George took a breath, "why Cal and Holden hate each other…is because Holden's mother was the _new, young wife_."

She didn't look at George; she walked out of George's office and grabbed Cal's arm.

"Just come with me back to my place. I need to get someplace that's a home. No hotels." Sonny walked past them, but she was for once blind to his presence. "Home, Cal. You should see my home finally. Where I live."

As Cal and Emily made their down the hall Sonny walked into George's office.

"What happened with Caledon Fancypants?"

"That's it. She's marrying a nice Jewish boy. I'm seeing to it." George flung himself in his chair and slammed his feet on his desk, ripping papers and sending files soaring off the side, falling to the floor.

"But George…Em's a Presbyterian."

"She's a heretic is what she is!" George stared at a his morning coffee, now long cold.

"I thought you were an atheist anyway now…"

"Agnostic. The word is agnostic. She thinks she's going to be his wife. If she's going to be queen of anything, she'll have to do it herself and not by marrying some pompous ass with a big wallet."

"As someone who tried to marry Em once," Sonny winced just a bit, "I think she loves him."

"That's what I'm afraid of. You know old King Henry loved many mistresses. Married a couple of them…do you know how many lives he destroyed by doing that? Stupid Cossack. I'd rip the king from his mountain if I could."

"You do that and won't be no one left."

"No," George shook his head, "I'll be here. I'll be the last man standing. Like Horatio."

"Actually, George, youse more like Shylock."

George looked at Sonny in partial disbelief, scratching his disheveled hair. Sonny shrunk back, assuming he'd offended him with the Shylock crack.

"You…know Shakespeare—since when do you _read,_ Sonny?"

"Watch it now. Rose read a couple with me. I asked her about one once and she said she'd help me read a few if I wanted and I said I did." Sonny waited for George to be impressed. "You gonna say something or not? I can read Shakespeare _just like you!_"

"I know, Son. I'm sorry. You're not dumb—you never were." George sighed uneasily and squirmed as if his skin was uncomfortably loose.

_Somewhere in his secret thoughts George was holding a young girl in his arms. The girl would wake up and told him the only truth she might ever tell him. Her name._

_One day she would matter to him. One day he would trust her. And from then on just…secrets. Secrets…and some lies._

"She couldn't even tell me she had a reading buddy."

"This is it," Emily's arms flopped to her side; perhaps lacking in words, perhaps in defeat as her home leaved much to be desired. She stood awkwardly for a moment and placed her purse on the ratty armchair. She let down her black locks, squeezing the cold hair in her fist as they fell about her back and chest.

"It's rather nice," Cal nodded.

"It's neater when my roommate, Rose is here. She sleeps in there when she's not nursing her failing movie career. But this is my bedroom…" She pulled him by the shirt collar and removed the much-live fedora, giggling for the first time in a day as they entered the open door to Emily's room and fumbling backwards on the way. The smell of the room was playful and clashing, like cheap, flowered perfume, but the fresh air still seeped in from the wide-open window. She swayed and smiled as she fell back to the bed, tugging at his clothes. Cal did not budge.

It took Emily longer than usual to realize Cal was not playing hard to get and she continued to unbutton and laugh and squeeze his legs in hers.

"What's wrong?" She looked up him. She looked so young.

"You know I'm married." He stood motionless. It was warm in the room, the sun was full and bright through the window with the broken shade; he could feel the warmth on his back, but if he turned around he would be blinded.

"Oh," Emily laughed, "forget about Calvert. He's just cranky. I want you now," she poked and prodded.

"Emily, I love you."

She stopped. It had never been said. It was the unwritten rule. Cal wondered painfully, _why did her face have to go so pale? _

"I…" Emily felt nearly sick. She had wanted this since she first touched him, but she could swear the ache was worth her lifetime. "He was right, Cal." Her voice was high and weak. "I—I should have seen it coming before…the game's over now. You've got a real home. Go back to your kids, Cal."

"I want to leave my wife." He stood erect, refusing to move.

"What about your little girls?" she shook her head. "I know about them. There's three little girls. George wrote a letter to Holden a few days ago and I read it when he wasn't around. …He mentioned them."

"Better one unhappy parent than two…I barely get to see them. With you around as their new mother…I would stay and they could have a father. A real father! You'll be saving a whole family, saving yourself…saving me too."

"Maybe I'd be destroying it." Emily was still quiet and soft, looking down at her own lap. "You and your wife are still alive. That's not an option _I_ have. Far be it for me to deny anyone else. We should have talked about our families a while ago, huh?" Emily laughed. She unfastened her skirt and unbuttoned her blouse, not to make love but to crawl into bed. Cal looked at her as if for the first time. She looked so thin under all that vitality and color in life.

"Please…" He still had not moved a hair's breadth as Emily pulled to covers over her little body. "Please return what I have extended to you…"

"That being…" Emily rolled over to look him in the eyes. Cal nodded slowly. _You know, you know._ "Yes," Emily nodded back, "I love you."

She did not ask him to come to her after that; it was not implied. Cal sat beside her on his own accord. He did not embrace her but calmly stroked her hair.

"When you wake, tell me about your family."

Emily just nodded.

Cal eventually curled up beside her, no longer touching her, but he lay close enough to feel warmness of her body. He faced away from her and she from him, but soon they were breathing in time.

Cal closed his eyes only to awake a few minutes later. He remained still to let his eyes as he felt the nearness of his lover's sleeping body. His eyes stopped on the photograph beside the bed on the nightstand. How unusual for people to be smiling in such a portrait, but they were. The little girl he knew was once Emily smiled a toothy smile with her mysterious family. This must be a family gathering he thought for there were four adults and not two. He guessed the dark-haired parents on the left as Emily for their looks and the devilish, delighted glare in the mother's eyes, but the there was a resemblance to the folks on the right. And the boy…Emily's brother? Did she have one? Another relation? He had no devil in his gaze, but it was not the _look_ in the eyes, it _was_ the eyes. The eyes, the eyes, even through the gray and faded reproduction he could see the watery blue orbs that he wanted to be Emily's. He had met those eyes before in dark and in coldness. He saw the eyes when the world ended.

And that face!


	37. Little Miss Dawson IV

"My mother died when I was fifteen and my father died last year. Momma had an ear infection and well, one week she was fine, then she fell a little bit ill and then she got worse and just a few days…she was dead. Dad had a tumor in his stomach. We knew for a long time. It took a _long_ time."

Emily began telling Cal her life story when she woke. She had started it just that way. Or perhaps, that is not correct. Emily stumbled out of bed, went to the cupboard and drank a coffee mug full of rum, then curled back up with her love in bed. She tracked her life through the death of loved ones, as if it was a basic framework with which to put her life together. She handed him the framed photograph on the nightstand.

"And these people are my father's brother and my mother's sister, my aunt and uncle, and their son, my cousin. Actually, we're more like brother and sister since we're from the same set of brothers and the same set of sisters even though we're really cousins. We all grew up in the same house, my father and uncle, Jack and me. We didn't have a lot of money so we all stayed in that house together. Well, we—that is me, Momma and Dad—left Wisconsin when I was nine…then, oh God, Aunt Hannah and Uncle Peter died in a fire so soon after. Cousin Jack left right after that, but didn't come to New York…damn, you know a little part of me has always hated him for that…" She looked up concentrating, "Oh, I love you, darling sweetheart." She nuzzled her nose in the nape of his neck and cooed.

"You…you were saying about your family?" Cal felt sick. It was just a coincidence. God help him, it had to be.

"Oh, sorry…I didn't know I was so interesting." She sat up again, but this time wrapped the blanket around herself and her darling sweetheart.

"Jack?" Cal encouraged her to continue, though he felt sweaty and his stomach filled with painful gas.

"Yes, Jack…Jack went everywhere. California, Cuba, Morocco, Spain, France, England…he used to write every few weeks. Then he stopped." He also drew some these," she indicated the drawing pinned up around her room. Cal said nothing. Emily stared at him and waited to continue after he spoke. She was casual as if she was relating the events of picnic. Her cousin, Jack Dawson, was an artist. "Sorry, off topic about the drawings…I assume he's dead."

Cal said nothing. Emily giggled.

"Want to know why Calvert is so grumpy? Well, besides shell shock, my friend Mary…well, I think I mentioned Mary once or twice, didn't I, Cal?" Cal nodded slowly. "Mary was my distant, distant relation and greatest friend when I was girl. Mary fell in love with George when she was engaged to another man whom she never met. Well, my lovely Mare, she went all the way down to Santa Fe to get married to this old biddy but left him at the altar!" She leaned over, seized a few cigarettes and matches from her nightstand and lit up. "And can you believe it? She spent a year and a half in the Southwest and got dragged into the Mexican Revolution by Rose, my roommate." She swung her lower half over the side of the bed, not facing the anxious Cal. She crossed her legs, inhaled and blew out. "Of course she wasn't my roommate then; my darling father was alive then. And Rose…well, I never figured that bird out. She's both uptight and out of control. I suspect she's got a darker past than any of us…"

Emily had very skinny legs, Cal noted.

"Mary was Catholic. George, well, you know what he is. Her parents disowned her and George's parents almost disowned him, but they got over it just enough to keep their son in their lives, but they don't get along well at all now, might as well disowned him. Mary was shot to death…bystander…gang fight. I was there. God, the blood, there was so much…I had it all over me…" Emily clutched her blanket and pulled it to her neck, forearms tensely pressed against her chest. "You've seen it too," she whispered, staring straight ahead. "You've seen death…and horror…and lost someone you loved. I feel it."

Cal shuddered. He did not like the way she said _I feel it._ Or the fact that she had said it at all. He had a past too, but Emily's openness disconcerted him more than anything else.

"So what's your big, sad story?" she shrugged casually, "Kill anybody?"

Cal nearly choked on the air in his own windpipe.

"You alright?" Emily, concerned, inched closer to her lover.

"Well, I may never know either way…"

"Is some sort vague metaphor you're using or are you actually amiss as to whether or not you took someone's life?"

Cal looked at her. She was trying to be clever. It seemed so unfair after her dissertation on her horrible, young life to deny her his. But it was impossible to speak of. In fact, he had never spoken of it to anyone. Despite her losses, Emily had little to be guilty about. Cal could not say the same, especially with the thought that Jack Dawson might have indeed been her cousin nagging him and making his stomach churn.

The name "Rose" made his heart skip a beat, but the roommate could not have been his rebellious, unhappy Rose. She was dead...like Jack. At least that he could boil down that to coincidence.

Cal felt ill for days. He frequently fell asleep at his desk after sleepless nights and paid no attention in the meetings he had not canceled that week, all the while his head was spinning. Was it guilt? Fear? Emily was never going to find out. He could keep it a secret forever…if he did not love her, that is.

Emily too seemed to be deteriorating. By September she was given to bouts of frenzy and fits of tears. She often hid in the kitchen of Joe's while at work.

"We are in love, Emily," Cal held her at her shoulders as they stole away in the kitchen of Joe's. "Why—why by God—are we so miserable?"

"Because," Emily whispered quietly, slowly lifting her head, "we are going fail."

Cal began shaking his head. "No, no, Emily…"

"Nobody cares what I do, but you have a whole world of people with their eyes on you."

"Calvert cares what you do; the boys that work here care what you do. They care about _you_. Those people, the people I work with, attend ridiculous social engagements with…all those people…they do not care about me. Only of scandal. I have few friends."

"I bet your wife cares…" Cal opened his mouth to speak, but Emily cut him off. "And if she doesn't I bet your little girls still do."

"I'll support Mariah after it's all over, _we'll_ raise the girls. Marry me, Emily. Let's get married."

"You know what, Cal?" Emily laughed. "Do you know what you're leaving your wife for?" She backed up and opened her arms wide, indicating herself. "_This_. Right here, Cal! I'm a liar and a tramp!" Her eyes widened, her smile broadened. "I do as I please, I'm merry and self-serving and no matter how many people let me into their hearts and love, I will still screw them over!"

She spun around in place and stopped in a little pose.

"Calvert is the only family I have left—he won't speak to me now—and I bet if my real family had lived long enough I would have done the same to them."

Cal felt a twinge, by now he was sure Jack Dawson was Emily's cousin. And not some relation she saw on holidays. Jack was the brother of her heart. She loved him. He had taken him away.

"Sonny was my first guy and, sure, he strayed from me all the time, you know why? Because I always told him I'd never marry his worthless, dumb self! Is he really worthless? I don't know! I've never really thought about it that hard, but ya know, it never stopped me from saying it…over and over again. I'm mean and spiteful and I don't think before acting."

"This is madness, Em, please…" Cal pleaded.

"But at least you can't say I'm not self-aware. Hmph…Mobsters are after me too…well, if they're not they will be." She drew in close and whispered in his ear, he almost pushed her off. "You know I work for Calvert. The last package I was supposed to deliver _I sold_ …I sold it _for myself_. Money was tight after the fire; I saw a way to get more. Noble spy I am! And funds are still low. So I stole from my friend! The only woman who doesn't hate me for sleeping with her man, whether by truth or by suspicion…_Look!_"

Emily held forth a flash of blue and white. A necklace. _The_ necklace.

"Stole this from my roommate. It's heavy so it has to be real. Where she got it from I'll never know. Unless of course I admit to pinching it or even go through the chest under her bed, broke the lock, then went through everything until I got to the bottom…I am walking impulse."

Did he blush? Did he grow short of breath? Did the awful, stabbing pains in his stomach return?

The Heart of the Ocean continued to dangle from Emily's hand as she waited for her lover's reply.

_My roommate, Rose._ Emily's cousin was Jack Dawson. Her roommate was Rose. She was _alive._

"Does your cousin know?" Cal blurted out in spite of himself.

Emily stopped and lowered her arm.

"What? My cousin? …Jack's _dead!_" She shook her head in utter confusion.

"What's your roommate's name?" Cal backed up, putting more distance between him and Emily.

"Rose! Cal, what are you talking about?"

"Her full name?"

"Uh…" Emily paused, looking all about the room, but refusing eye contact with Cal. "Dawson, actually. No relation. Just coincidence."

Cal only stared at her for several moments. Emily grew impatient, tapping her foot, frowning, and generally fussing about, trying to gain Cal's attention.

"Have we gone bye-bye?" she put her face right in front of his. "Hmmm?"

"Tricky devil…" Cal smiled as he realized. "Coincidence like I could not imagine…"

"You are far gone," Emily tugged at his arms, "stop this!"

Cal could see the two of them. They ran back into the ice cold water, back into the dark, back into the bowels of the dying ship to avoid his clumsy shots. He could hear her screaming…he could hear the screams of thousands of others as he fought to save his own life and take by force the girl that had run from him.

"Emily, tell me you love me!" he ejaculated.

"You know that…"

"Say it," he pleaded.

"I love you."

"If you could forgive me of my greatest sins…"

Emily covered his mouth with her hand.

"Shh. Who am I to condemn you?"

Cal's head was filled with someone else, another girl he had loved so long ago, but had tried so hard to forget…

"But after all of it, it's you I love…"

"Cal, what is happening with you?"

"If I did something terrible to you would you forgive me?"

"Are you leaving me?"

"No…" he said, almost whispering. "Only if you wish it."

"Then…stay with me…just me…I want you to myself. I heard you say to George you'd switch me with your wife if you could…"

"What?"

"If you're going to go funny, I might as well too! And this is what I want! You! Life with you, you until I'm dead! Don't you see? I'm alive. I've been alive since I met you. I'm happy. It's been so long, I don't remember the last time I was happy." She stopped. "You're so beautiful, you know that…" She touched his hair, the roommate of the woman he was supposed to marry and the cousin of the man that woman loved. And in spite of it all, he loved Emily, and Emily above the others. "See how crazy we've become…it will get worse if we part or keep talking about how we're going to part. You were right before."

"Then we will be together, you and I. I'll…we'll see to that."

"Yes, yes!" Emily embraced him fiercely with her head drilling into his shoulder. "I'll marry you! I'll marry you!"

He had to get his head together first, end his marriage, and then tell Emily of his past misdeeds. The three of them—Rose, Jack Dawson, himself—they were fighting with each other, he told himself. Rose wanted to leave, Jack wanted Rose, Cal could not handle it all. Misunderstandings at a most dangerous time. And Rose…was far away, but curiosity nagged at his brain and perhaps he could finally make peace if they met once more. Emily loved him, all would be well.

Cal decided to speed up the process in which he and Emily would be together properly by carelessly leaving one of Emily's letters in his coat pocket at home for his wife, Mariah, to find.

There were fits of rage and tears. She had never possessed the sense to discover any of his other encounters, which he never took quite the care to cover up—until now—as his love affair with Emily Dawson.

Mariah's melodramatic reaction to Emily's scandalous letter shocked Cal. He never thought Mariah cared terribly for him; he hadn't touched since she became pregnant with Caroline. Was she angry for their children? Certainly she could still raise them along with Cal and Emily. Was she scared she would be put out without support? Or was she just afraid being a divorcee, and lowering herself socially? Did she truly love him? He would never know. He did not want to ask. But with Emily's strategically planted letter, Cal successfully laid the first nail in the coffin.

By September the 10th Cal was living at the Waldorf and had left his wife. It had not yet been made public, but word would soon be out. Emily and Cal grew tense and nervous as they made their plans. Emily had sent a message to Calvert saying she would elope with Cal as soon as he was legally free of his wife.

Calvert was no longer speaking to Emily.

Emily—with Cal's help—managed to anonymously repay her debt to Hans Martin's people for the drugs she had stolen and sold. Unfortunately, there was little she could do about the buyer who never saw his merchandise.

With Cal's financially support, Emily no longer needed to money from the sale of the blue diamond, so she returned to its rightful place under the bed. Cal did not let her know his particular interest in the necklace or its owner. One day, before they were married, he swore to himself he'd tell her everything.

Being the girlfriend of the rich and powerful of Caledon Hockley, Emily felt she had a little more security than most. She was still scared…scared of everything. Scared of being caught. Scared of losing Cal as she waited for her new life to begin. But she was in love, more in love than she'd ever been in her life.

On the night of September 13, Emily had been hurrying down the street to meet Cal at Joe's.

Young Susan Welsh, a local teenager that spent her time in Joe's while skipping school with her best friend Becky Trevors, ran head long into Emily.

"Please, Emily," Susan cried, "It's Becky! I'm scared! I don't know what to do!" She grabbed Emily's sleeves in her sweaty palms, choking on tears and gasping for breath.

"Come on, Sue." Emily gently took the girl's shoulders. "Take me to her."

Emily ran towards Joe's with her arms around the panicking young girl. Her breathing was heavy and time seemed to slow no matter how furiously her legs kicked off the ground. Something was terribly, terribly wrong.

In Joe's she found Becky Trevors, alive, with her face swollen and hair and dress soaked in sweat. She was in Cal's arms as he tried to get word out of her. They were the only ones in the bar.

"I said 'no'! I told him, no, no, no!" blubbered Becky. He wanted to know what Calvert knew and that they k-knew things about Rose and that he would expose her and he said he'd kill me too if I didn't. Then I said all right, but then I begged to s-stop and he wouldn't!" Becky let out an awful howl. "It's so painful…"

Susan ran to her friend. Emily came close to Becky, but did not touch her.

"Becky… who?"

Becky only sobbed.

"Who?" Emily quietly demanded.

Becky Trevors did not need to answer. At that moment, Johnny Culbreth opened the front door to Joe's.

Emily's throat went dry. She could see him. Three years on Tenth Avenue. The man that killed Mary.

"You little bitch…" Culbreth stalked closer to Becky.

"Don't you dare!" Cal stood up, placing Becky in her friend's arms. "You will not touch this girl again!"

Emily, in the meanwhile, had removed her coat, revealing her red-sequined dress, walked around the bar and pulled something out from underneath.

"Mary and Carmine weren't enough?" she screamed. Pointing a revolver at Culbreth's face.

"Watch yourself, Dawson." Culbreth barely even blinked at Emily's dangerous gesture. "You're bigger than these girls, but you're not big enough to dance with me." He adjusted his belt, smiling at Becky. "You can't kill me. You're too weak. You don't have it in you! I'm sorry about your friend, but Andolini and the little slut here was just business. You've already interfered enough with _business_…" Emily winced, apparently Emily's folly had gone unnoticed, nor was it forgiven. "Just leave to us Calvert and the redhead and make your punishment a bit less severe."

Cal winced at the word, "redhead."

"You're right, Johnny, my boy," Emily smiled weakly, "I can't kill you. I can't bring back Mary and I can't bring back Sonny's brother and I can't lock you away for the murders or anything you've done for Hans Martin…" Emily tightened her grip on her gun. "And I can't protect George or Rose…but I can make sure you never to anyone else what you did you did to Becky…"

Emily lowered her gun and fired.

Culbreth fell to the floor with a scream and writhed on the ground holding his bleeding groin.

Emily fired again. And again. And again.


	38. Little Miss Dawson V

"We've got to get you out of here!" Cal heaved Emily's suitcase onto the bed and rifled through her drawers, throwing in articles of clothing quite indiscriminately.

"No, no. Can't leave." Emily paced and shook her head quietly.

"Yes, Emily. You killed that man."

"Didn't kill him…wanted to. Didn't kill him." Emily continued mindlessly pacing. Cal tried to pack, but Emily's incessant pacing and head-shaking was driving him mad.

"Stop!" He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her once, hard. She did not look at him. "Perhaps…you were not wrong to hurt that man. But you have compromised _yourself_. His people, his fellow _criminals_ will come looking for you. The _police_ will come looking for you. He died in the street, bleeding from the groin; people want to know where you are."

"Always here. Killed that man?" Emily broke free and continued pacing.

The front door to the apartment burst open and Cal rushed out of the room, expecting that someone would be coming for his beloved. His heart raced like it had not in years.

"Dawson!" shouted the voice of George Calvert.

"You cannot arrest her. I will not allow it!" Cal growled.

"Oh, _shut up_!" George rolled his eyes. Good to know not even this could alter brash Calvert's usual demeanor, thought Cal. "Is the kid alright?"

"Alright? Alright! How can you say 'alright'? Golly, is she enjoying herself today? Did she get a boo-boo when she fell and cut her wittle knee? Is she out dancing? Of course she isn't alright! She's half-mad is what she is!"

"Impressive, Hockley. That was almost funny. I take it her physical person is intact." George folded his arms.

"Everything but her peace of mind, yes." Cal consented. The two men could hear the clicking of Emily Dawson's across the next room, like a clock. _Click. Clock. Click. Clock._

"Good. Then we're getting her out of the city. Wherever we can stick her, where she'll be safe. You should high-tail it too."

"I'm not high-tailing it anywhere without my fiancée."

"Post-pone the festivities, Hackneyed. You're an accessory." George brushed off Cal and marched into Emily's bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

"Look at me," Calvert said calmly. No response but manic pacing. "You look at me!" He demanded and locked the door. Emily stared upon order, but without emotion. "I will not punish you or blame you or condemn, but you will listen to everything I say if you want to be safe." Emily nodded.

Emily had her bags packed, bound for a safe house somewhere in Westchester that George had picked out. Cal had stayed in the city and waited. The apartment seemed so lifeless to Emily. Nothing she built ever lasted and even for love, she questioned whether it was ever worth it. First she left Wisconsin, lost her family, lost her friends, broken hearts…now she'd killed a man. She would leave New York, Joe's, and everything she had left. Cal vowed to stay with her, but Emily knew how easy it was to change alliances in troubled times. She still loved him but would hold him to nothing.

Before she left she walked into my room. Perhaps because she believed she would never see me again or perhaps she was curious to see if I left anything she wanted. All and all, it does not matter why she looked through my room, it happened and I could not stop it. She found my secret box: the box with the necklace. And the letter.

She read the letter while fiddling with the Heart of the Ocean in her hand. The letter was long, but Emily was patient. When she finally finished she got herself a glass of whiskey and walked around the apartment.

Every question that went unanswered, all that was hidden from her…she now knew. Every truth was a lie. Where she once saw trust, she only knew betrayal.

She wrote a hasty note to tell me what she thought.

_Nice story_.

The door closed behind Emily as she made her way calmly downstairs.

It was lunchtime on Wall Street and Cal Hockley was not hungry. He sat outside, after exiting a meeting at JP Morgan, contemplating. What to do, what to do? So tranquil looked he, sitting like that on the steps. A passerby might have believed Cal was thinking of nothing but numbers, foremen, accountants, who to hire and who to fire—the casual thoughts of an important man.

Nearby, a man on a donkey cart passed him by, stopping a little ways up. Cal followed it lazily up the street. After that, he saw the figure of Emily Dawson, the woman he loved, coming up the street. Her hair was down around her shoulders and she was wearing the clothes she had been in the day before.

She handed him a photograph. On her way to the financial district (she had been walking since morning) she had freed it from its frame and discarded said frame somewhere on the street.

"Do you know this woman?" she gave her lover the picture, standing over him. Cal obediently took the photo from her and his jaw dropped. There I was outside of Joe's, much older than seventeen.

"My God…" he whispered.

"You know her."

"I know her."

"She's alive."

"She alive…" The words sank in as they formed in Cal's mouth. "Clever girl…woman…"

"Everything is in this letter that she no longer intended to give me, it seems. She's a liar," Emily laughed coldly. "And so are you." Her eyes were wild, but she barely moved. "You're liars!" she hissed, still laughing. She threw the Heart of the Ocean onto his lap. Cal could only gape in wide-eyed silence.

"Emily, please…I can tell you everything."

"How well did you know Jack Dawson?" Emily asked calmly, as if he was nothing to her. Cal remained silent, but now stood up to meet her. He was shaking from head to toe. "Say his name, you filth! I _dare_ you to say it!" she screeched. A few passersby turned around.

"I knew Jack Dawson. Whatever…" It was so strange to speak these old names now. "Whatever…Rose put in that letter…about my actions…is very likely true." He shook his head, "Rose."

"He's dead because of you. And her. He died so that she could live to lie! And you killed him. He might have lived if not for you! He would be with me if he had never touched the likes of _you people_! My blood, my family, my love! Jack!" She clutched her breast, still wild-eyed and dangerous. "I have no one! I even lost George for the love of you!"

Emily paced, lightly stroking her stomach as she went to and fro.

"Emily, I love you!" He grabbed by the shoulders, trying to embrace, but she struggled and hit his arms with her little fists.

"I hate…" she could not finish her sentence, but then she realized it was the perfect truth. "I _hate_!" she screamed. "I HATE!" She hugged in her middle in horror.

"I will do anything. I love you, Emily, you're my life! Anything, please!"

She looked him clearly in the eyes and said, with great emotion but without a single tear:

"I want my cousin back, you son of a bitch."

He still had her by the shoulders when the donkey cart exploded, tearing through the block and ripping them apart.

I had just heard from George. Emily left for Wall Street that morning, in search of her boyfriend: Cal Hockley. And unrelated to the first trouble, a bomb had gone off in the area, whether it was anywhere near the horrendous couple, he did not know.

I did not vomit upon hearing this news. I screamed in the lobby of my building and ran outside, leaving the earpiece of the telephone swinging.

I knew Emily had the necklace and my letter. She also took my picture off my bureau. I knew she went to see Cal.

Grabbing a ride from cop that I knew who had commandeered someone's Model-T, I headed toward the scene of the disaster. The city continued on as normal on each passing street. My stomach churned with each corner we turned. We were going fast, but not fast enough.

Oh, God. Cal and Emily. Cal and Emily. Cal Hockley and Emily Dawson. Why? Why, God, of all perversions? How did I let this happen? I could have told her years ago while her parents were still alive. Perhaps I never let go of my own vanity and cowardice. I lived in a world where Emily Dawson and Cal Hockley could fall in love. I could not believe it.

But it was true.

_They might even be dead now_, the horrid thought crossed my mind. _Blown in half. Blown to bits. Flesh burned, limbs askew. Oh, I failed. I failed you, Jack. I failed everything I had ever loved. _

It was a beautiful day, truly, and the sun shone brilliantly in the early afternoon. I said nothing to the other cop; he drove furiously, nearly overturning us at a few corners, but I did not protest. I just had to get there. I had to get there. I had to.

When we arrived the street was full of smoke, two bodies passed my way in a stretcher as I jumped out of the car. They day had changed. Fires burned here and there as the Fire Department attempted to put them out. The blue sky barely peeked through the gray clouds on the ground. I coughed violently, covering my face with my hands. My chest tightened like it never had before. I lowered my hands. They were covered in blood.

"Oh, great God…" I closed my eyes. Lifting my head I moved further into the abyss of smoke without thinking, eventually lowering myself to my knees and shutting my eyes again. They were burning from the smoke. I knew they were all here; I could feel it. On my hands and knees, I cried out: "George! George! Emily! Hear me!" I wrenched myself up on my knees with my arms in the air, eyes still shut. "Caledon Hockley!"

I coughed again, this time for a long time; I could not stop. Warm blood ran along my hands. My friends could be dead and I what I thought was a bad cold—what I ignored in stupidity—was taking hold of me in the middle of a disaster. I tried to call for George, but I could not speak. Slipping from consciousness, I fell to the ground.

Cal, regaining from a blow on the head, eventually found Emily lying on the ground as though dead, with her arms and legs twisted in ridiculous fashion. Touching her from head to toe, he could feel something warm and wet between her legs.

"Emily!" he cried into her shoulder. She did not move. "No, no, no! Emily, please, wake up!" He lifted her weakly into his arms. He raised his head and cried: "Help! Somebody please help! For the love of God!"

After what seemed like hours, as the smoke began to clear, Cal saw a large, shadowy figure amidst the ruin come down and gently touch his shoulder.

"Come, Hockley. Let me help you," said the voice of George Calvert. Cal looked up, squinting through the clearing dust, to see this man's face. Calvert lowered himself to Cal's level and tightened his grip—not in threat—but in comfort. He looked at Cal again, slowly lifting his hand from his shoulder and crouched by Emily, hanging his head. After a moment, he raised Emily Dawson's tiny wrist and pressed his fingers to her little neck.

I felt a large, comforting form lift me from the ground. Waking, my head drifted into a strong male chest. I heard whimpering and voices and trucks all around, but they seemed distant now. "George…" I whispered. "George, oh, George…" I held him tighter and his arms enveloped me. They were firm, warm, and strong. For a moment I felt safe. I coughed again and then weakly lifted my hand to touch his face. I opened my eyes.

This man was not George.


	39. Little Miss Dawson VI

I looked at the man who held me. I was so weak I could not sit up. We stared at each other for a long time. At that moment I felt too hopeless to hate. Once more the world had crumpled from underneath me and all I could do was lie there like a broken doll.

"It's nice to know something like bomb could bring us together," I said hoarsely. I did not take my eyes off of Cal.

"Rose…" he began to say. "Oh God, Rose…"

"You know," I closed my eyes slowly and smiled, "when Jack died…I had to rip my hand from his…the cold…and the rigor mortis. I thought he was in his twenties, but he was really nineteen. Did you know that?" I paused. Cal said nothing. "Have many people died today? The air's clear now. Are there many dead?" I inquired.

"Rose, please. You must hear me." He propped me up on his lap so that I could more easily look him in the eye. "Emily…" he shut his eyes in pain. "She may be dying. They took her away to the hospital. I love her more than my own children, but I had to find you. Emily told me you were alive. Then I asked Calvert. I had to see you." Then he remembered himself. Where we were. What had happened this day. "Where are you hurt?" He took his hand to wipe the blood from my mouth. I winced from his touch at first, but at that moment I needed a hand to stroke my face.

"I wasn't here for the explosion, Cal. That's not what's killing me today."

Realizing, Cal lifted me off the ground. My head fell limply against his chest.

Twenty minutes earlier

Emily Dawson lay still on a stretcher. Cal watched from a distance as George knelt over her.

"Kid, kid, look at me." George turned Emily's face to him. He brushed her limp, ash-caked hair away from her face. She opened her eyes.

"Is she alive?" she said.

"Who? Rose? I haven't seen her. How do you feel?" He asked, vainly trying to conceal his panic. Emily shook her head. "Do you mean 'he'? Is Cal alright? I saw him. He'll be just fine. Look, kiddo…"

"Is _she_ alright?" Emily lightly touched her middle with her index finger. George remembered the pool of blood between her legs. Gazing at the dried blood on her skirt, George took her Emily's hand and said nothing. Emily knew. "No, George. The baby…you have to help her!" She tried to sit up and clutched Calvert's shirtsleeves. "Please!"

"Calm down, I'm beggin' ya. You hit the ground flying. That's not the only part we're worrying about. Oh, kid…there is no baby anymore." He held her as she cried out.

Medics loaded Emily into an ambulance minutes later. George walked up to Cal after he separated himself from his dying friend.

"Mr. Calvert, I…" Cal stopped. George opened his mouth, but Cal put up his hand. "Do you—do you know about your friend Rose? That she may not be who she says—"

"Rose DeWitt Bukater. Yes, I know. I fished her out of the street just weeks after Titanic went down." George smiled knowingly, "You don't get a whole lot of information, do you? You should ask Holden where he's been lately." He winced. The slight was meant at Cal, but George was overcome by hurt and a strange anger toward Holden. "I'll make a deal with you…you like deals, don't you?" Calvert's comforting-save-the-victims demeanor had vanished.

"Well, we're probably both used to deals."

"Me? Why because I'm cop I must be corrupt. Or perhaps I'm some penny-pinching Jew. We all are, right? Shut up for once in your life. Help me help these people." He stretched out his hands to the ruin and death before them. "If you do this, I will do all in my power to help you…with anything, with the events of the other night…anything. And…" he said, "if you find Rose, bring her to me. Or just let me know that she's okay." He did not know about the letter at this point.

George began to walk away.

"She's a dangerous woman to love," Cal called after him.

George did not turn around.

"Put me on my feet," I demanded as Cal carried me in the direction of the nearest ambulance. Cal kept walking. "I can walk," I said, growing stronger. "I order you to put me down!" He stopped and looked at me and I looked at him. He obeyed, placing me gingerly on the ground, but did not let go. He was still holding me to his breast. "I can walk. You may release me." He slowly backed away, hesitating once only his hands held my arms. "I need a doctor, but not now. Let the victims have the ambulances, alright?"

Cal nodded.

"Calvert is here."

I looked at my former fiancé. I spent so many years perfecting my hatred for him. Did I love him once? I wondered.

"Naturally," I consented, unconsciously putting a hand to my chest. Emily read the letter; George would soon know its contents. Oh, I would lose both of them forever. "I'm a nurse, certified. I was in France during the War. Take to me to someone who needs help."

"Sir, hold still," I said loud and steady to a bloodied man in a business suit. I pressed my hands on his stomach and he moaned. "Doctor!" I called to a man in a white coat.

"Nurse Dawson," I rolled off quickly. "This man has head trauma and may be bleeding internally. There's nothing we can do for him here. Do you have any more empty stretchers?"

"Make him comfortable, Miss Dalton. I'll be back," he waived me off and strolled away, indifferently surveying the damage.

"Damn doctors," I whispered under my breath. I knelt back down to the man and stroked his face. "You'll be just fine. Just stay calm and stay with me. My name is Rose."

It was near two in the morning once I reached home. I tried to get in to see Emily that day, but the doctors at the hospital would not allow. The doctor's insisted that there was no one of that name there. Calvert or Emily herself must have checked her in under a false name. I had known about the man she shot.

I threw myself on Emily's bed and gazed at the Dawson family portrait. I touched the glass over the image of Jack. I missed him terribly at this moment. Oh, had he lived…life would be as it should be. I felt as though I'd been struck with boulder all over my body. I grabbed the frame and pressed it to my breast, curling up into a fetal position on the bed and giving myself to nostalgia and memory.

I tried so hard to picture that night before the iceberg. Jack in all his wonder and glory… But the nostalgia did not last. He would hate me now if I could see me now and what I'd become. But it was not _his_ wrath I feared.

Suddenly, something hit the ground. I moved my chin over the side of the bed to see. It was the Heart of the Ocean. My eyes moved to a large pair of feet and I let out a small cry.

"Returning your jewelry, Miss DeWitt Bukater." I was seeing George's face for the first time since we kissed that summer. His massive self towered over mine as I still laid crumpled on the bed. My God, he looked ominous. "Speak."

"George…I—"

"You what? Lied? Keep a secret from Emily thus nearly killing her? Yes!" I could not answer. "I knew who you were and I kept quiet. Wasn't it our special unspoken rule? I thought you did what you did for a reason. You didn't even tell me a thing, but I believed you. I _believed in you_. Why for the love of God did you never mention Jack Dawson? He was her cousin for Godssake! Do you know what you done!"

"You were not there!" I raised myself up to my knees. I was still on the bed.

"Did you tell Holden? He knew you. He knew about Titanic too. Did you tell him about Dawson?"

"No!"

"I have seen the elephant, Rose! I wasn't on Titanic, but I've been there. Oh, I've been there. Do you think you alone can own one man's memory? Do you think you can own someone's memory when he had a family? If, _if_ she lives, Emily might be crazy forever. She is _shattered_. It's not trauma, Rose, it's selfishness. And cowardice. You're worse than Hockley!"

In a rage, he slammed his gun on the nightstand.

"Oh, you have no evidence for _that_," said I menacingly.

"Remind me the next time I try to put myself on the line for you. Preferably before I'm dead as a result."

"You're a sick bastard," I told him.

"Tell me one thing you've told me that's true. I trusted you!" He stopped, groping for breath. He pointed at me, his finger inches from my face. "I trusted you with more than my life. _I will never forgive this sin_."

He backed away slowly and walked out of the room. The front door slammed a moment later and I fell into a coughing fit, spraying blood on Emily's sheets.

I knew then I had to get away. I would have to take control of one last thing in my life. I did not tell George I was ill—there was no point. If I was going to die I could at least choose the place. There was only one person who could tell me where that place was.

I forgot how much I liked the Waldorf. It had been so long since I stayed there. It had been so long since I had been surrounded by the money with which I grew up. Once more, I ventured back into my old territory. The adrenaline was coursing through my body, giving me a marvelous high. My gloved hand wrapped itself around the cold metal inside the pocket of my trench coat. There was no amount of money, status, education, no drug and no love affair that can make a human being feel this kind of power.

This was madness.

I carried myself with the air of money and importance thus hiding my mad intentions and modest clothes. When reached my destination, I pounded on the door. The very moment the knob turned I kicked the door, knocking Cal to the floor.

I bent down to pick him up by the collar. He was a not a small man, but somehow I managed quite easily to pull his nose to mine. His feet were jumbled under him as he tried to regain balance. I could smell his breath; he had been drinking.

I kissed him quick and hard on the mouth and pushed him away, pulling George's gun out of my pocket in time to strike him across the face with it before he hit the floor again.

Here he was. The first man to touch me. The first man to hurt me. The man who fired on Jack and me, chasing us into the bowels of a sinking ship. The man whom I gave responsibility for the death of beloved Jack. The man, who, knowing all this, slipped his slippery, good-for-nothing self inside Emily Dawson. Killed Jack. Fucked Emily. Ruined my life. _And he was at my mercy._

"Hello, darling. I've come to talk about old times." I smiled madly.

Cal, bleeding from the mouth and nose and crawling pathetically on the ground, looked up at me. "I never knew you wore glasses," he remarked.

"Brain trauma, Hockley! My vision's impaired! Next question! Did you know I could kill you like a dog right now?" said I.

Voices were calling from the hall. Cal struggled to his feet and ran to the door, still pointing my gun at him I warned: "Don't go running. I'm not afraid of being caught."

He acquiesced, calling: "Just a little accident! No need, no need! Sorry for the disturbance, gentleman" and closed the door.

"If there's a gun on stage, does it have to go off?" I asked. "I tell you it feels nice to be aiming the gun at you for once. It feels so intoxicating, I cannot begin to explain. Too bad the hotel's not sinking. Tell me something, did you kill to win a spot on a lifeboat too?"

We were both sitting on the floor by now, a mere yard from one another. I was still pointing my gun.

"You know, darling…can I call you 'darling'?—I've been reliving the past today and it just feels right. Well, you know, darling, together we've managed to destroy an entire generation of one family. One hell of a team we are."

"Do you love him?"

Jack's voice was in my head again: _Do you love him?_

I lowered my gun.

"What?"

"I can see how much you love him and I admire fiercely for it…though I am saddened that it must all come to this…we two demolishers left to suffer without the ones we love—"

"Shut up," I said, weakly picking up my gun again. "Shut up! I can't do anything for Jack now nor he for me…but yes, you miserable bastard, I loved him."

"Wrong verb tense, Rose. We're not in the past, we're in the present. I was not talking about Jack Dawson. You know of whom I speak.

"The hell you know what's in my heart! How dare you condescend! If you ever did I might never have left! But you're _you_ and there's nothing to be done," I spat venomously.

"There's obviously something to be done. You came to me. If you're going to kill me, you'd better do it sooner rather than later."

I laughed wearily.

"Cal," I said. "I don't have to gall to shoot you. It was mere fantasy. But it's nice to wield the power for a moment, no?" I shook my head, calmer now. I pulled my gloves off my hands and pushed my glasses further up my nose.

I laughed again and Cal with me.

"I—I don't," he paused, fighting through his chuckles, "I don't know what's so funny!"

"Me neither!" I laughed too.

"We're mad!"

"The greatest part—the most wonderful part, is I can talk so freely of these things to you, but for eight years—no one else!—yet I think I still hate you! It's absurd! Amazingly absurd! It's crazy!" I rolled on the ground in a fit of laughter that quickly turned to another fit of coughing. Cal moved closer, but did not touch me. He waited until I was done, got to his feet and grabbed a wash cloth from the bathroom.

"Here," he said quietly.

"I forgot how soft these towels were. I was so blind to such riches once. Now it's blinding. Strange," I shrugged as I wiped the blood from my hands. I tried to put on a casual air, but I felt so weak. I tried to stand up and fell.

"How serious is it?" asked Cal as I knelt on the floor on all fours.

"Enough," I nodded, "I told you I'm a nurse. I was in the war. Saw Holden. Slept with Holden…" I meant that to be a punch to the head, but I wasn't feeling so spiteful at the moment. I wanted to attack his vanity, but he did not have much left at the moment. Cal did not raise an eye-brow at my vulgarity. The world had turned upside down before and it did it again that day. Telling him I had copulated with his brother was probably up there with telling him he had something between his teeth. "Anyway, I know what T.B. looks like."

"Can I help you…in anyway? Please, I don't know what to make of you now, but I know I cannot watch you die."

"You don't have to watch, Hockley," I shrugged. "Can I ask a favor of an enemy?"

"I'm only your enemy if you wish it."

"Where is my mother?" I looked up at him, feeling truly vulnerable. "My…my _mother_." There was a pang in my heart so deep. "I must see her. I've done her the worst, no matter what George and Emily say. I killed her child…Cal, where is my mother? I must go to her."

Cal remained quiet for what seemed like hours, but was probably a mere moment. I began to shake, fearing the worst answer might come.

"Where she's always been. I give her an allowance to maintain your family's home. She's on East River Drive. She seldom leaves the property. I haven't actually seen her in nearly two years. I can take you there—"

"No," I said. "I will go alone."


	40. The Return I

With one suitcase in hand I made the journey back home. Traveling alone was easier than I anticipated, save for the occasional trouble breathing, but what can one do? The train ride from New York was only a few hours and by eight o'clock in the evening, Friday, September the 17th, 1920, I found myself back in Philadelphia for the first time in seven years. Not feeling brave enough on the first night, I stayed the night in a hotel. The next morning, I arose, washed up in the bathroom down the hall and left for home. Praying I would not have an attack on the way, I hopped on a trolley. It let me off at Fairmount Park; about a half hour's walking distance from my destination. By now, despite the aches in my chest, exhaustion, and the minor detail of my entire life being flushed down the sewer, I was happy to walk.

I strolled along the waterfront of the Schuykill, under the great stone bridges and ledges covered in moss and ivy. Growing up, especially as I reached puberty, these sights—this whole place—had little effect on me, but only then, returning as an adult and after a long Exodus, did I realize how beautiful it truly was. It was near noon as I approached home on East River Drive. Less than two days ago, I had been cleaning up bodies from a bomb explosion, today I was walking along one of my girlhood haunts, watching white-gloved mothers and their children play and take Saturday lunch in the park.

I knew why I had left my old life—why I had taken such drastic measures—but these happy memories only worsened the aching in my chest.

"You'll never beat me, Agnes!" shouted a young boy to his little sister as they played by the water.

"Careful! Careful!" a woman's voice called to them, worried but less shrill then my mother's voice could be. I'd never be that woman. The one I loved hated me, I was frightened of marriage, and I knew my time could be up soon anyway. Besides, I was violent, reckless, and my entire life revolved around three days when I was seventeen—perhaps I was not mother material.

The two children raced by, their faces flushed with that kind of endless joy children always have but never notice until it's gone away. School would probably be starting for them again soon, I was not quite sure—it had been some time since I'd been in school.

_I was happy here. I was happy on days like this_.

Past the park I could see my old house, the family estate. The last time I ran here it was only year after Titanic. I had come to the gate, lost my nerve, visited my father's grave and found my own. This time I would walk through the gate.

_Just another block_, I thought to myself.

"Hello, sunshine," said a voice behind me. I whirled around.

"Hello, bolter." The bitterness in my voice surprised as well as the person to whom I spoke, but I remained calm and natural.

"Heard you were heading for the weekend. I'm flattered you mentioned me, by the way."

"Since when? _ I_ speak to Cal more often than you do and until yesterday he thought I was over there." I pointed vaguely in the direction of the graveyard. "You haven't spoken to Calvert, have you?" No answer. In my head I could see the image of George towering over me; the dark shadows and moonlight that made his face look like a demon's. I didn't think George wanted to see me, but I was still frightened. "_Holden?_"

"Not now. You like him! Psh!"

"How much did that pitiful rat tell you? This is a strange time indeed for latent family bonding. Besides, don't you judge me. Let's remember who left who."

"Wow, Bukater, I'm just pickled to see that despite circumstances—bombs killing people, having to see Cal again, confronting your mother who thinks you're in Davey Jones' Locker, and your friends hating after you lied to them for years to cover your own ass—you're still you. You can still engage bitter sarcastic repartee with yours truly."

"You forgot 'disease.' Or did that fine brother of yours fail to mention?" I looked up the street at the gates to my mother's house. "And," I added, "you mean 'tickled' not 'pickled' unless of course you're attempting to be witty or something."

"I didn't want to mention that…" He said quietly. "It makes me nervous…"

"Oh? Because it isn't as funny as other people dying? Shut up and go away." I narrowed my eyes at him. "Leave me alone, Holden. I'm busy and what I'm about to do is important and difficult. Shoo!" I goaded, waving my hands. "You're not making any friends here so—" I grabbed my chest in pain and wheezed.

Holden got me before my knees hit the ground. When I could speak again I asked him to sit me on the ground. I was so in love with him the last time I was with him, but now all I could feel burning in my throat and chest. We sat there for a while, not saying a word and keeping a few inches distance from one another.

"I know everything because Cal called yesterday. I met with him this morning. He figured I had a right to know. He makes me feel all funny inside when he thinks of other people… Nice day, huh?" He said, sitting next to me. I let him speak. "Remember days like this? Do you miss it any?"

"The pretension? The hypocrisy? Having every aspect of my life controlled and planned by others? Denied the right to be human being? No." I coughed a little and continued. "But I miss my family. My mother, my father, the dogs and cats I had, that house up there and the big willow tree. Sometimes I even miss you," I smiled.

"I like your skirt," he pointed to the dark blue and floral pattern.

"I made it myself this summer. Wore it today…wanted to look nice for my mother, I suppose." I shrugged. I stopped for a moment then looked at Holden. "Let me go alone," I said.

"No," he said softly and shook his head.

"This is my move, Holden. I must do this alone."

"Rose," he said, "there are few people on this earth who make me as uncomfortable as your mother." I opened my mouth, but he placed his fingers to my lips. "Please. She makes me uncomfortable especially now, that she's widowed hermit with a dead child. She was wrong before. To push you into marrying my brother was wrong, but she was doing everything she was taught to do her entire life. And she thought she was protecting you. That said, you _cannot_ just waltz up and ring the doorbell. How can you do that to someone's head? Mommy's little baby is _dead_, remember? Let me go in and let me talk to her."

I nodded. What was thinking? I couldn't just walk in. This woman thinks her child is dead.

I sat on the veranda on a new bench that had not been there when I was "alive." Facing sideways on the bench, I pressed my cheek to the cool brick wall. I could hear murmurs inside, mostly of Holden making stupid conversation and stalling. But I also heard my mother's voice inside and for once it was not the tuberculosis that was cutting my breath short. I wanted to run to her though when I merely attempted to shift my position on the bench my whole body felt like lead.

As I lit up a cigarette I saw Cal's figure pacing on the other side of gate, but making no attempt to come through. I waited to catch his eye and waved him to me. He hesitated, but then slowly and sheepishly made his way up the path.

"Are you armed?" he asked when he reached the steps. His voice sounded a bit funny, as though he had something in his mouth.

I shook my head and blew out smoke without looking at him. "That's a fair question to ask of you I might add."

"Good, maybe we'll be friends today."

"_Friends_? Whatever made you entertain that notion?" I looked at him. His face was puffy and ridiculous from the blow I'd dealt him earlier. Holden never mentioned that. Perhaps that was why he was so cheerful after their meeting.

He lightly and carefully touched his swollen, purple cheek.

"You know, I've know idea, really." He let out a sigh. "For the longest time I blamed myself for your death. And his. Considering I tried to have him killed, it sounds fair…and I felt _pain_ _and_ _guilt_ for _both_ of you."

"After eight years I'm going to face my mother and she's about to find I'm alive…if Holden ever gets past the small talk," I stretched my ear closer to the window. "Listen," I said, shining and warm, "I'm hearing her voice again!" I changed my tone once more. "I don't want to talk to _you_ about _this_!"

"Who better, Rose? Tell me if you think I killed him."

"I did," I said, "oh, I did. But now…I honestly don't know. You could have done nothing and he might have died anyway. I've seen two wars, deserted people purely out of habit," I thought of Manny for a moment, "kept the death my friend's cousin hidden from her—so I know exactly why you never said anything to Emily even though you loved her. I survived Titanic and I've survived since then. You don't go through things like that without doing something really bad. So don't apologize. What is…is what is… Revenge would do worse by me than by you. Perhaps I can't kill the man Emily loves. Perhaps I'm not brave enough after all. Anyway, I don't care. I through with fighting. I'm at the end of my rope."

"You took his name and still keep it. You obviously care quite a bit."

"Doesn't mean I know everything. Look, Hockley, we won't be friends, but as long as you keep my secret safe, I'll keep yours." I tapped my neglected cigarette and stuck it back in my mouth. "Keep your voice down too," I said through the cigarette and looked inside.

"Who else will die because of our secrets?" he said, almost angry.

"I just don't want this shit in the paper. I want to be Rose Dawson. It's who I am." I started hacking again for a moment and Cal made his first advance toward me since I walloped him with the butt of George's gun. He ripped the cigarette out of my mouth and threw it on the ground.

"Oho! Your days of putting out _my_ cigarettes are long over!" I hissed as I smacked his hand away.

"You'll kill yourself that way, sticking fire in your lungs when they're full of blood! Are you suicidal?"

"No, I'm just dying. Don't rile me up right now and don't be an arrogant son of bitch like you are."

"Your new vocabulary becomes you."

He turned around and walked off the porch, down the path, and out the gate. I was mentally and emotionally exhausted, shaking all over. Had I the energy I would have cried—making me crazy at a time like this. Stupid, stupid man.

I wanted to tell him he had been too pathetic to kill, but I restrained myself.

"Holden, this growing tedious. No more tea, no more talk of the weather, no more talk of the old days. You have an agenda. Please, you must stop or you must tell me why you came," I heard my mother speak from within. She sounded…_tired_.

Holden loudly took a fresh breath of air.

"I want to talk about Rose," he said frankly. It was the first time he had spoken so since he ventured in over an hour before. I heard nothing for near a minute. I'd been staring at my watch constantly since Cal left.

"Oh," she said distantly in that high octave voice she uses when she's been caught off-guard.

"Do you think she was capable…of say…uh, running away…you know, um, _before_?" I had discerned by now, through their extensive and excruciating exchange, that "before" was an all-purpose word used to describe everything that happened before April 14, 1912.

"She probably fantasized about it. I mean she tried to…right before…with _some boy_."

"You mean Jack Dawson," Holden said rather jarringly.

"W-what? How do you—did _your brother_…?" She stopped for a while before Holden spoke again. I noticed a pattern from earlier in their conversation: Mother referenced all the men in her life with disdain—including her late husband, my father, and her benefactor, Cal.

"I knew there was another man. And I knew his name was Dawson. I've known that for a couple years now, however, I learned his first name today when I saw Cal. He had an affair with a young woman named Emily Dawson, a friend of my old sergeant. She is that man's cousin."

"Good God," said Mother rather sincerely. She was probably grabbing her necklace, provided she was wearing one. "What became of them? Did he say anything to this woman? I cannot imagine…" she broke off.

"Emily Dawson found out, but not through Cal. She read a letter describing everything that happened between Rose and Jack Dawson on Titanic. Cal did not write it. Another friend of Miss Dawson and George Calvert—my old friend and sergeant, did."

"Who could possibly?" Her voice was cracking. She sounded confused and frightened. She did not want to remember things and speak of them so frankly.

"Mrs. DeWitt Bukater, I think you'll want to put down your teacup."

I heard china tapping on china, no doubt Mother's tea touching its saucer.

"Rose wrote that letter."

"No, she didn't. She could not have. Holden—Mr. Hockley, I want you to stop this!" she cracked.

"Yes she did," he spoke slowly and emphatically, "Listen. She was able to write that letter because they found her in the water after the ship went down, they pulled her out, she hid on the Carpathia among third class passengers, she gave her name as _Rose Dawson_, she got off and has been living on her own ever since. Your daughter is alive."

"Wh-what, where? Alive? With the boy? Are you _lying_ to me, Holden Hockley? Is a sick, ill-conceived lie? If it is—"

"No! It's most certainly not. And it's just her. I saw her today and I saw her during the War. I…" he did not finish his other thought. "Please, try to take this slowly."

"Why did she never come? Where is my child? My child? My Rose." My chest contracted in pangs of guilt.

I could hear shuffling and the sound of Mother and Holden's footsteps.

"I want…" she said, choking on her words. "I want to see her!" she demanded desperately.

"You might want to sit down again. She's near. Please, for Christ's sake…sit down already, damn it!" Holden once again spoke like the old Holden I knew.

Suddenly, Mother's voice was strong and clear, a touch wry.

"Don't hold your breath, Mr. Hockley, I'm not going to faint."

I almost giggled. That strong voice of Mother's was inside me at that moment. I could feel love in a thousands places. I wanted to call to her, but I could not move nor speak.

"_Ruth_," Holden said, exasperated. "She's outside. She's on the porch."

With my position now exposed, I leapt from the bench to my feet and raced down the veranda to the front entrance. _Oh, Mother, I'm coming!_

The doors swung open and there stood my mother, mere yards away, for the first time in eight years. I stopped. She stopped. We said nothing. We studied one another for a short moment and I began walking toward her.

We were huddled on the ground with our arms around each other.

"Mother…"

"Rose…"

"I'm sorry!" I cried, "I'm so sorry, Mamma!"

"Shhh, child. Not now, not now."

There I was an adult weeping in her mother's arms. She stroked my hair as she did when I was small. She never touched me much those last few years we had spent together. We were cold and distant. But now we were mother and daughter once more. Oh, the miseries and crimes we had done another! But now I was back.


	41. The Return II

Her face was paler than I remembered and her hair boasted a prominent white streak. She looked significantly older and it frightened me. I could only imagine how I must have looked to her. After a long bout of tears between the two of us, she cupped my face in her hands and brought my eyes to her.

"I stopped praying for miracles long ago, I…" she broke off, "Oh, my only happiness!" she pulled me to her with my nose crushing against her shoulder and began weeping again. "You—you must c-come inside." She slowly rose to her feet, never letting go of me as she did so.

She led me into the house. The main entrance and sweeping, wrap-around staircase appeared as large and as grand as it did when I was a small child. It was almost as if I'd never been in the place before. I nodded to Holden on the way in, signaling that it was alright for him to go. He lingered for a few minutes then made his way to the door. I followed my mother who appeared as if in a trance. Now—these first few precious minutes we had been reunited—were all new to me, but there lay an undeniable difference: I knew she was alive the whole time.

Her clothes were plainer than she might have preferred, but they were still of fine quality. The house was dusty and much of the furniture was covered in white sheets. I knew this woman. Maids under her charge had been known to plunge into near catatonic states or suffer from severe nervous disorders after Ruth DeWitt Bukater discovered something out of place—God forbid a mere dust bunny! If there was anybody here to take care of house, they did not live here or attend on a regular basis.

I was crying over my girlhood bed, clinging to Lydia, my favorite doll when the eeriness and wrongness of the situation finally sank in. Mother was a hermit and a charity case. She shut herself up and made herself pathetic.

"Oh, Mother…why do you live like this?" I looked down at my doll—perfectly groomed. And the room…it was nearly spotless. The white-painted furniture—chairs, my desk, my bureau—as well as the pink curtains and flowered wallpaper were all immaculate and in the exact places I left them. "Why did you do this to yourself?" I stroked Lydia silky curls with a tenderness I hadn't shown another human being for a long time, and then I looked up at my mother. "This must have been torture, Mother. You twisted the knife in your own gut? You're chained in here."

Her eyes were still glazed over and dreamlike, but she understood every word.

"I was wrong. I know that now, but…" she broke away.

"Mother, please." I took her hand in mine.

"Was I so awful?" she asked, looking right into my eyes. "Nothing I did warranted this!" she accused, her voice full of pain and hurt. She pulled her hand away. "If you wanted to run away, you could have let me know you were alive. That you were safe!" She squeezed her and clenched her little fists. She touched her hand to my nightstand for balance. "I wanted my memories! I wanted what was left of my family! It wasn't about the money anymore, Rose. It wasn't about familiarity. I lost your father...first slowly while he was alive…then so all of the sudden. I was going to lose the life I knew, the home I knew, the friends I knew. But I never thought I'd lose you! No mother could dare dream of it!"

"I thought there was no way out! And there wasn't! I'm sorry for all that I've done you, but you did the same by me. But…I'm back now. Not back to be a part of our old world, but I am back with you. I had to do what I did."

"For so long? _Eight years_ I have grieved! EVERY DAY! _I grieved!_" Her voice had grown strong now.

"You were scared, I understand. But you used me." My heart began to race; I was terrified of where this was going.

"Use my child?" she snorted.

"_You sold me!_" I pointed at her vehemently, clutching Lydia to my breast.

Mother howled and turned away from me, covering her hands in her face. I let her cry and pound the wall until she was finished. When she retired from that occupation, she stood looking at the flowered wallpaper for a long time.

"My mother drank herself to death…" she began. I knew this. My grandmother, typical of many Victorian women both upper and middle class, was a quiet alcoholic and laudanum addict. The limitations of women of that time quietly killed us all, manifested in sleeping disorders, chronic and unexplainable illnesses like those my grandmother suffered. "I vowed I would never be like that. I would face the day as myself with my own wits about me. I was strong. And even when our marriage became empty…Oh, I thought my life would be so different when I married your father, but no," she shook head, "it was the same as ever if not more so. I saw that the road I went down and I saw it before you too when you were just a tiny girl." She held her chest and choked back the tears. She looked at me for the first time since the fight began. "You trashed your room the night you met Jack Dawson and you ran out without your keys. He never laid a hand on you until, I presume, you solicited him to…" she didn't blush, but she grew awkward as any parent might when referring to their children's sex lives—especially in a time where unmarried children simply were not to have them and they were not to be discussed anyway. "What happened? Don't lie, Rose. I'm not a child. Don't patronize me, you have that look in your eyes," she accused.

"I never looked over the rail to see any God damn propellers, of course." I took a deep breath and looked down at my doll. For the first I was describing in detail and point by point—verbally and to another human being, not on paper— specific events and feelings about Jack and Titanic. And I was also about to tell my mother I really did intend to kill her child at one point. "You know, the idea that Jack came out of nowhere and pulled me back in a split second as I toppled over is logically preposterous…" I laughed emptily and made eye contact again. "I was hanging off the ship. I was going to throw myself off. Jack talked me out of it. He just…talked me down until I wanted to live again…" I tucked Lydia under chin and closed my eyes as if I was drifting off into a dream again. "My foot got caught on my dress and, after a terrible struggle, he pulled me back over the other side to safety. The rest is…history. He did that for _me_," I pointed to my breast, "a complete stranger. I mattered to him the moment we met. He saw me as a human being from the start. It was all I ever wanted from anybody, don't you understand? He was a good and wonderful person that loved me. Please know that, please." The doll had drifted to my lap and I now held my hands to my chest. "Mother?"

"I cannot respond to that."

"Look at me now. I've had this big life because of him! And because of that one decision!" I held out my arms wide and strong. I got off the bed and went to her. "I'm a self-made woman now. I'm free." I took her hands. "You can be too."

"Were you ever happy?"

"Sometimes, yes. But I'm becoming the person I was meant to be. I look in the mirror and I always know just who I am and I…" As I walked to the pink and white painted mirror to look at myself—the strong and free Rose Dawson—I recoiled at the reflection.

"What is it? Is it about the Dawson girl…and Cal? Holden told me."

My heart nearly leapt from my throat. I still had the dream of being the woman Jack saw inside of me. But that was not the person standing before me in the mirror. This woman selfishly lied to her friends and comrades, and abandoned her mother to torturous hermitage. She was also a disintegrating invalid. I was still holding back even now.

"It's all that and more," I turned away from the hideous creature in the mirror. "I never told Emily or anyone…I just kept waiting for the right moment, wrote it all down, then I stopped planning for a moment and kept the memory to myself. I thought it was mine alone. She may be…dying. And I lost the trust of the one person I trusted most. And Emily may be forever a basket case, I had to ally myself with Cal to get here, and George…and I've got nothing to show for my life. Everything I've done, everything I've built is fading or gone…everyone I care for would rather see me eaten by dogs in the street!"

Mother caught me as I feel—I nearly fainted.

"Something else is wrong, Rose. I know it. Tell me now or you'll never here the end of it."

_I might soon_, I thought to myself.

"I've only known for a few days, really. So it might not be that bad." This was not the time for Ruth to become maternally perceptive. I knew if told her I'd break her heart again. How could I? "Uh, I'm having a baby…" I said ridiculously. "And I can't say anything about the father at this moment, but I'm so alone with this!" I cried. "I told you I lived a free life…"

Mother looked at me almost coldly.

"You were a fine little actress as a child, but I never heard a more ridiculous lie."

"You can't handle this one. Let it go," I said quietly, regaining my dignity.

"Is that supposed to dampen my interest in the subject? Rose, tell me this instant!"

"Ask me like an adult and you'll get a straight answer perhaps."

"Do not torture me. You are not protecting me by lying."

"I'm sick. I've been feeling unwell for a while, but I only realized what was wrong a few days ago. It's been getting ever since. Soon I won't be able to…"

"What is it?"

"It's, um,…it's T.B, I think…." I scratched my head like an idiot. My mother began walking backwards. "It's just a cough right now. I'm, uh, actually a nurse, Mother. So I have seen people come through out of these things. Just takes time…and patience." I could comfort others about their own ailments, but I was making a hash of telling someone else I loved about my own illness.

"I'll fix us some tea," she said and walked out of the room.

"You'll fix what?" I asked incredulously. I just told I could be dying. And this woman certainly did not fix her own tea.

I gathered my thoughts together before leaving the room. I would give her time to adjust and accept the fact that aspects of my life had changed so dramatically in the last eight years, certainly she changed too.

She made dinner too. It wasn't very good and I wasn't very hungry, but I wanted her to believe my appetite was as strong and healthy as ever. She said some maids came in once a week to attend to certain rooms and that was it. The property was owned by the Hockelys as well as the summer house in Vermont. But she relinquished that to Cal for his own personal use.

I spent the night in my room. The next morning I had an attack coughing blood all over my white sheets. Mother ran in and reacted quickly. Wiping my face with a hot wash cloth, she began lecturing me.

"No hospital! Absolutely no!" I argued. "If I come in with you I'm done for!"

"You've already—quite literally—beaten Cal into submission and I don't hate you. You've won there. Honestly, you're ranting like you're some sort of criminal. Fine. Then you will see the doctor. Doctor Brand. He's from the other side of the city and keeps perfect confidentiality. I know that I am probably talked about now, but when I had influenza I had one of the maids find me a doctor who did not belong to that circle."

"He still might figure out who I am. If I live—" Mother recoiled and I corrected myself. "When I get better, Mother, I want to continue my life as it was."

"Without your friends? Alone? Obsessed?" she asked plainly. "You said yourself everything you'd worked for had been destroyed."

"As Rose Dawson. No Dawson, no Rose. That's the condition. Listen, I know I'm at a crossroads here, but you have to understand me. I'm not hopeless," I realized the truth as I spoke it. "I'm not hopeless. I can fix this; I won't stop until I do. George and Emily mean too much to me. I was wrong, but I'm not unforgivable. If they're worth anything themselves they'll see that." I shook my finger. "Even if I am unforgivable," I relented, "they must know how much I care for them." I sighed.

"Calm down or you'll work yourself into another fit."

I strained to hear Dr. Brand speak. My fever peaked and my mother nearly threw herself into a panic. I relented and allowed myself to be taken to a hospital for the proper examinations.

"Well, Miss Dawson, it appears you are only in the first stage and that your condition is susceptible to drug use. I understand you are staying with a distant relative and would urge you to relocate yourself to a sanitarium. You are currently infectious."

"Do you need to remove anything?" I asked. I'd only ever assisted in one surgery for T.B. It was a Phrenicotomy, a procedure in which you crush the Phrenic nerve. It paralyzes one diaphragm on one side of the nerve by cutting off the nerve supply and allows the lung on the disabled side to heal. Other procedures involved the removal of part of or the entire lung. I was personally attached to both of my lungs, thank you very much.

"No," he said, "at this point I believe we can wait and possibly avoid such measures. I also believe that your violent reactions in the earliest stage of the disease are due to an overly strenuous life-style."

"Huh," I said.

"I'm going to recommend heliotherapy and shot bags and I'll see about any drugs in the coming weeks."

So my mother stuck me out in the sun until it grew cold. We had an Indian summer that year so she kept me outside in a wheelchair and a shawl until mid-November just like a jaundiced infant. While I was inside she had me lie down with shot bags to weigh down my lungs and keep their activities low. She refused to have me go to a sanitarium. I could have overruled her, but I was terrified of leaving her.

I couldn't even vote in the election that year because I couldn't leave the house. Well, that is not completely true. I did vote. But I sent in an absentee ballot back to California. I had so been looking forward to marching up to the voting booth in front of all those men, laughing all the way. Instead, I made mother go out and do it for me. Firstly, so that she may get a small taste of the possibilities ahead of her and secondly so that she would get out of the house and leave me in peace for an hour or so. She was still as obdurate as ever and she had been driving me crazy most of the time. Sometimes, however, we were able to savor the moments.

"No," I laughed on the last warm day, sipping tea on the back veranda, "she looked like this!" I made a hideous and scandalized impression. Mother and I were talking about luncheon at the Abbotts', the in-laws of Cal, in which the future Mrs. Hockley found a frog in her ice cream and wailed like a banshee. My mother nearly spit her tea into her cup.

"Oh, I've never had such a go those people before! Oh, stop laughing so hard! You'll break something!" she scolded, once she regained herself.

"You're laughing too. Besides, it's been so long since we've laughed like this together. We're not entirely incompatible, you know? The world had better watch out when the DeWitt Bukater girls have something to say!"

"You need to rest now."

"Oh, I've been improving everyday."

"What about that fever yesterday and, look, you're sweating now. And what was that awful scar on your back?" During a high fever my mother put me in a cold bath. I had gotten over the idea of being twenty-five years-old and bathed by my mother now that my life might depend on it. "Some acting stunt? Some other kind of stunt?" So far I had told her that I had been a nurse and an actress. I told her about Columbus, New York, California and movies, and the hospital in Baltimore, and nursing school. Some other things I had left out.

"I was in a crash."

"A crash?"

"Yes, a crash, _a motor vehicle accident_," I spelled out for her like a child.

"Shut up, Rose. I know what you're talking about. Can you explain it to me like a normal human being, please?" she shot icily.

"Well, it was an ambulance actually. It flipped over. It happened…two years ago? Yes, a little over two years ago."

"Why did it flip over?"

"Jesus Christ, Mother, why do you want to know? It flipped over. I got hurt. That's all!" I admired the ease with which I could curse at my mother now.

"Rose!"

"Fine, fine. I'll tell you and it's going to upset you," I pointed. "The ambulance toppled over like it did and I got the happy little scar from a surgical knife lodging itself in my back. I had the knife out because I had a patient with shrapnel in his…just about all over him really…"

"Did you…"

"Yes, I thought I had such fun on the Grand European Tour with you and Cal that I'd just do it again. But France turned out to be very muddy on that trip. Quite noisy too. Anyway, a shell hit near us and we flipped all the way over." I gesticulated the capsizing with my arms. "I am also a miscegenist."

Fire, fire, fire. Troops, fire!

"What?"

"A miscegenist is someone who sleeps with who is not of their own—" I began.

"I know what a miscegenist is for God's sake! What did you miscegenate with?"

"That would be 'who,' and I did it with my friend Manuel in Columbus. We almost got married. Does kissing George count as well? I told he's a Jew, right?"

Mother got up.

"It is really time for you to rest now."


	42. The Return III

The morning of December 20, 1920 – Philadelphia, PA

I never truly intended to return to this place. But here I was, staring up at my girlhood ceiling, reading and making mustaches on faces in _Ladies' Home Journal_ while my mother brought me food and propped up my pillows.

"Really, Rose. You're an adult," Mother observed while glimpsing at my artistically-altered magazine as I added some flames to a duck-shaped tea cozy on page 13.

"Really?" I asked incredulously. "Shocking."

Mother sighed loudly.

"What else do expect me to do?" I asked again, this time seriously. "I've read this stupid thing two times over," I shook the magazine, "and I'm stuck in here all day. Oh, I feel terrible," I flopped back on the pillows.

"Well, you have tuberculosis if you haven't noticed."

"I'm convalescing. I'm a convalescent. I don't feel convalesced."

"You are the least patient and most stubborn person I can imagine. You're lucky to be alive," she snapped. "You better think of something with which to entertain yourself. I'm taking a trip today. I'll be back late tonight."

"I thought you said I couldn't be left alone. Where are you going?"

"Out."

"Anything more you'd like to add, Mother?"

"You played dead for eight—almost nine—years and suddenly there's a problem when I won't tell where I'm going one day? I'll be back tonight. I've brought you some food. If you require anything more go to the kitchen, but don't wander about anymore and waste your energy," (At this point I was really ready to start mouthing her words along with her in ridiculous fashion), "You should take a bath; you could use one." And with that she left.

Just after she was gone I had a terrible and strange realization. I was alone in the house. This gigantic house that needed an army of servants to run it. I had never been alone in here. I remembered, as a teenager, wanting nothing more than for everyone in this whole damn mansion to disappear and go away. And now they were all gone and it was just me. It smelled musty all over.

Maybe she's gone Christmas shopping, I thought to myself. But she only had me to shop for now. She barely even spoke to her sister, Helena, who gave her a little cash every now and then.

I obliged my mother and took a bath. I got myself dressed and looked to see what victims I might have missed in _Ladies' Home Journal_. After I finished my juice and muffin, I found myself still hungry and retreated to the kitchen. It was large and empty for the most part; I would venture down here sometimes as a child and listen to the maids chatter about the picture show and sometimes sex.

While concentrating on getting better and repairing my relationship with my mother, I spent much of my time thinking about George and Emily as well as Sonny and the others in New York. Had Emily died, there would be no way for me to know. The papers about the September 16th bombing said nothing about an Emily Dawson. Nothing at all.

I thought about Jack too. If you love someone deeply and he dies, do you love him forever? Yes. It is true in my case. But if you lose this person like that, are you _in love_ with him forever? Sometimes it felt like it. I daydreamed about Jack Dawson all the time when I was with Manuel. When Holden left me, I turned to the memory of Jack's love as comfort. Everything came back to Jack.

But Jack had been gone for years. There was only me.

Over these years I had grown darker and harder. While I still felt that under most circumstances, I could connect with people, few people could understand what I'd gone through. Few people would tolerate the choices I'd made. When I was with George I felt…_at home_.

George wasn't just someone who would listen to my opinions and tell me that it's okay to be a strong woman. It wasn't just that he lost like I did and knew what I went through. When we looked at each other—even before the slightest feeling of sexual tension surfaced—we were on the same level. We were such natural friends. How could it come to this?

I can come up with a thousand reasons, but in the end, there is no good reason as to why you truly love someone. Try it. Pick anyone, your mother, your brother, your lover, your best friend. You can name a thousand reasons about how they make you laugh, or their understanding, or how safe you feel when you're with them. But why, exactly, do you love them? But there is no one truth. You cannot verbalize; you cannot explain. You simply _love_.

Even that one kiss still sent shock waves from my toes up to my heart every time I thought about it. First love, second love. Your first time with another person or your hundredth. Even if I'd never touched him or never would… Love is love.

I loved George without measure. I loved him without reason.

It would have been torture to go for years and never tell him how I felt and, worse, I imagined, seeing him fall in love again. If all that could be so terrible, I could barely stand what happened now.

The afternoon of December 20, 1920 – New York, NY

Ruth DeWitt Bukater stepped off the train at Grand Central with an address in hand. That morning she selected the most dignified yet simple outfit she could find that would give her an air of authority. She had always told her daughter to dress for the occasion whether it was written on an invitation or your imagination. Ruth had a clear picture of her goal; her dress and composure reflected it.

Every time she brushed shoulders with a scruffy character she seized up a bit, but refused to flinch. She was reduced to lifting her dress an inch or two above the ankle to keep it from dragging in the muck of dirt, food, and animal waste covering the sidewalks of Hell's Kitchen.

It was near lunchtime when she arrived at the 18th Precinct. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and walked into the cramped, musty lobby. Most of the officers stopped upon seeing this small, but rather formidable-looking upper class matron.

One approached her and began to speak, but Mother cut him off.

"I'm looking for Lieutenant Calvert," she said firmly.

"Uh, he's in his office, M'am. What's your business here?"

"_My _business is certainly none of yours," she said, scandalized that someone would ask her so direct a question.

"Well, if I go get you the Lieutenant I need to know your business. This is the police, not some sorta social gathering. So unless you want to dance, lady, you better be straight here."

"You are a rude young man. To think I came all this way for such treatment! And _my business_ concerns a missing woman. Are you quite stupid? If someone like me even knows the name of a man like your Lieutenant, don't you believe my business here would be of some import? I'll talk to Mr. Calvert now, not one of his lackeys, thank you very much."

"Who the hell…?" A large, dark-haired man emerged from the hallway as he slammed a rickety office door, making the glass shudder.

"You," said Ruth as she approached him, "are you Lieutenant Calvert?"

"Depends on who's asking?" The detective folded his arms. Mother didn't like him. At least Jack Dawson was clean-shaven, young and fresh, physically unimposing. This Calvert looked like he hadn't shaved in a week when he normally had a five o'clock shadow. He was very tall and broad-shouldered. He was still a relatively young man, but he had little youthful glow about him.

"You should know perfectly well who I am," Mother insisted.

"I don't and you're wasting your time, lady," Calvert turned around and walked away.

"Turn around and look at me. You must know who I am!" Mother's voice grew higher, but she refused to give way to any weakness.

"Good God…" George Calvert scratched his beard as he got a closer look at Ruth.

"I need to speak with you privately," she said.

Unsure of what to do or what information she had, George let her in his office and closed the door.

"What do you know, what do you want to know, and what do you need to know?" Calvert asked. They stood on either side of Calvert's messy desk.

"Very well," Ruth began. "I am Ruth DeWitt Bukater. Recently—since this September—my daughter has returned to me. I am aware of what has passed between your young friend, Miss Dawson and Caledon Hockley. I too knew Miss Dawson's cousin. To calm my daughter's nerves, I would like to know whether Miss Dawson or anyone else she cares about is alright." Calvert said nothing. "I'm finished with that part. You can answer."

"Emily is alive and well. I am the only one here who knows of her location for the time being," George answered. "Tell…your daughter that…everyone she need worry about otherwise has been exposed and is in jail."

"What? Who does she need to worry about?"

"Well, m'am, I guess your little girl is always a little tight-lipped. She did some undercover work here with the Irish mob. Nothing too deep. She can rest easy now," he said with a bitter smile.

"Rest easy?" Ruth shouted with venom, "Rest easy? You fool!"

"Me?" he pointed to himself in indignation.

"She's been ill these past months, very ill. She almost died, you good-for-nothing!" Ruth calmed herself. "She suffers from T.B. And how—God knows why—she seems to suffer without you and your little friend."

George said nothing.

"Well?" Ruth prodded. "Have you nothing to say for yourself? Have you any soul? I would have thought you cared for her. She certainly cares for you. But then again I'm usually inclined to disagree with her judgment," she gave Calvert another cold sizing-up with her eyes and grabbed a pen and paper from her purse. "Should you be interested in contacting us again, we are here."

Ruth DeWitt Bukater left the police station and got herself lost on the way back to the train station for a good half hour. She was tired and ill-tempered after traveling so far alone, wandering through a filthy neighborhood, and being treated so horribly. But she had met her goal. The rest was not up to her.


	43. The Return IV

I took a cigarette break on the _front_ veranda the afternoon my mother left on her mysterious trip. I was banned from going into anything on exposed part of the house. I was banned from smoking as well.

I started coughing mucus after about ten minutes outside. After that I decided to head down to the hospital and requested a different doctor. I only coughed blood for about a week or so. I'd been getting these mucus attacks for a while now but kept them from my mother; they were also not indicative of a T.B. diagnosis. The disease, or infection, I should say—the doctor told me I had the T.B. infection, not the disease—had been wavering. It would get better, than worse. I didn't understand. It was another eight years or so before penicillin (not that I knew at the time), tuberculosis was practically a death sentence.

This new doctor told me I had chronic bronchitis. I had taken a hit in the chest, which, with the illness, probably caused the bleeding. That and sickness from possible emotional stress mimicked the symptoms of tuberculosis.

"Check the labels on your medications. It says in your record you're being treated for bronchitis."

"I don't believe this," I said, grabbing my head. "Why would they lie? I'm a God damned nurse. Why was I so clueless?"

"You appear to be under a great deal of stress. You said your aunt wanted to keep you indoors and at home, correct?" he said referring to my mother.

"Yes, I, uh, I ran away as a teenager. My family took it quite badly. I'm all she has left now. She's all I have left… Oh, God. I can't believe I was lied to about this. What do I do?"

"Start by being very, very relieved Miss Dawson. You've just gotten your life back."

"I have, haven't I?" I nodded. "But why haven't I improved if it's just bronchitis?" The doctor sighed and took my hand, carefully and paternally examining my fingers. "What?" I asked.

"You've got some stains on your fingers. You still managed to smoke in your condition?"

"My _aunt_," I said slowly, "causes an undue amount of stress in me."

"I've got your cure, Miss Dawson: stop smoking. Your bronchitis will go away. There may be no definable proof that cigarettes cause any kind of illness, but you're a nurse like you said, do the math. You wouldn't inhale any other burning chemicals if someone didn't sell them to you in a labeled carton, would you?"

Cigarettes could not possibly have made me sick, I thought indignantly. How ridiculous! I was desperate, however, and decided to give quitting smoking a chance.

The first order of business was to get on trolley to some lower-middle or working class neighborhood and grab a strong cup of coffee. Or two. Or five—as it turned out. I began craving another smoke, but resisted the urge.

I needed to confront my mother. I needed to telegram my bank in California and take out all my funds in order to pay for surgery as debris had badly bruised my left lung. I could afford the surgery, but after that I would be utterly broke.

In situations of such frustrations, I would smoke a pack of cigarettes. Instead I drank coffee, perhaps a better vice than liquor, but I spent the trolley ride and the subsequent walk through Fairmount Park home in near agony for want of relieving myself.

Once home, I sat and waited for my mother for the better part of the evening. I decided to leave her and went over the speech in my head countless and even acted it out in my room once I returned, each time growing angrier. I did not know that she went to George that day and could not see through the frustration and feelings of betrayal. I left the last time and now she intended to keep me a willing prisoner through lies?

Mother arrived at about quarter to eight that evening, she remarked I was looking well and was glad to see I was up.

"You didn't go to the front of the house today, did you?" she asked. I sighed. She still regarded me as a child, I thought.

"No," I said, "I went to the hospital."

"You did what?"

"I was beginning to believe my tuberculosis was not behaving like tuberculosis. That's because I have a bruised lung and bronchitis on top of that."

"Why did you leave today? I explicitly told you _not_ to go outside! You could be recognized!"

"I know, Mother. I'm not deaf nor am I a child. You cannot keep me here with lies about my health and then reprimand me for figuring it out."

"I could not trust you to stay. As soon as you recovered, you would go gallivanting off again and out of my life."

"Well, if that's true, you're only option would be to let me do it. Besides, you're refusal to recognize my less severe condition, propagated a worse one. I'm having surgery on my lung; it was damaged during the explosion in September."

"I guess you're staying after all."

"No, after the surgery I will recover elsewhere…if the surgery goes well, that is… If we cannot trust each other, then I cannot stay."

"Well, just have a nurse tell you died on the table, walk away laughing, and you'll have your life again, won't you, Rose?" she said icily.

She walked away and I said nothing. It occurred to me, sometime after she stalked off into the drawing room, that I had been sitting on the bottom step of the main staircase, slumped over with my chin in my hands. I could not recall a time, when I still called myself DeWitt Bukater, that I ever _sat_ on the stairs. I tried to convince myself I'd won a small victory, but it did no good.

Despite the tension and the long silences, Mother got a small tree and decorated it on Christmas Eve. We made Christmas dinner. My cooking was bad; Mother's was worse. We could rot in that house forever, but it would never be home again. We both needed to leave and move on with our lives. The problem remained that Mother had never left any place or any life voluntarily and I was always leaving every home and every life I managed to build with frightening consistency.

I had the surgery just after New Year's and it went well. It was perfect timing as my mother's sister (another one of her benefactors) came to visit while I was under the knife. No one in the family or the public for that matter would be the wiser. The bad news was that I had no money left and even if my mother had any to give I would never have taken it. I stayed with her for one only one month to recover.

Late in the morning on Valentine's Day 1921—a year to the day I had arrived in New York again—I was packing and organizing my things, planning a desperate return to seek out Emily and George. I had not seen nor heard anything from either of them in five months. It was a hopeless venture, but I decided that if I loved them, any chance would be worth. And I did love them.

By now, I was living off the change in my pocket. If Emily was still there, I dared not go back in our old apartment and see if I had left any money behind. Emily might shoot me on sight and if I left anything, Emily had taken it by now. And if she had vacated, I could not enter anyway.

"Rose?" Mother called for a third time. I heard her the first two times, but did not have the energy to answer. She was waiting in the front room while I rummaged around my bedroom. It was at the far end of the hall, but we had excellent acoustics in the old family home. I finally walked out to the top of the stairs.

"Yes, Mother?" I said as a walked

"Well—oh, you're not still wearing those shoes, are you?" Whatever she had been wanting before was forgotten because I was wearing footwear she did not approve of: a pair of old brown boots.

"Yes, I am. They get me where I'm going. I couldn't afford an extra pair of socks at this rate so why do you care about my shoes?"

She let out one of her long, exasperated sighs I had re-learned to hate. The doorbell rang. Mother went to answer it and I walked back towards my room. If it was Holden, I could wait; if it was Cal, I didn't want to see him. And if it was anybody else—I was dead to them.

I had grown so frustrated; I slammed every draw I opened, whirling around the room as I searched for the rest of my belongings. I did not hear who had come to the door and expected that it might be Holden or someone connected to my mother's sister. I didn't have the energy for at the moment.

After a while, when I could hear no conversation and my mother did not come upstairs, I grew worried. Of course, I could not go and check as I was officially dead in this world and could not risk being seen.

"Rose? Could you come down here for a moment?" I had a bad feeling and hesitated to respond. "Someone is here to see you."

Slowly and carefully I walked toward the stairs. My heart pounded faster and faster and visions of George flashed through my mind. I was terrified.

I did not see George waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

"Can we talk in private?" said a surprisingly strong voice.

I stopped, unable to answer or to move. I couldn't believe it.

"Emily?"

"Please" was all she said.

"Oh, uh…yes, I think." I led her to the old drawing room where the furniture was still covered in white sheets. "I didn't even know you were out of the hospital. Well, I suppose you would be by now…"

"Please. I don't know any other way to do this. Don't talk; just listen. I don't know if I trust you anymore, but that's more than I can say for anyone else. I need help. …George left the city a couple weeks ago and he didn't say where he was going and he didn't say he was leaving…" Emily grabbed her hair and began pacing around the room. A few nights ago I got a note on my door with an address for someplace out in Western Pennsylvania. I gathered up all the money I had and put Milton and Sonny in charge of Joe's." Emily threw her hands up. "After I got out of the hospital I just into more trouble. Any of the booze or other some such things that they used Joe's for…Joe's was closed for weeks…I needed the money. I sold some of it. And Calvert had arrested some of Martin's people and they knew we were working together and then the cops started suspecting me…and now Calvert's gone and I got people leaving notes on my door. These aren't just little cartels! This is a big, powerful ring. I just hightailed it outta there…I can't believe I left my friends alone there and had them run the bar for all sorts of criminals…I don't know if you'll help, but I thought you should know."

I said nothing to her and sat down in an old armchair that was still covered in a sheet. She was much thinner, sick from worry and from the miscarriage and her clothes hanging off her body. Her eyes were sunken in. She looked tired and unhappy. George was missing.

"I am to deliver a ransom. But I'm not going to," she said.

"What else can you do? We can't just leave George there!" I said hoarsely. I held my stomach and sat down on the divan. Not smoking had put through withdrawals; I often felt nauseous. The news made me feel worse.

"I'm going to sneak him out. I've already paid an informant that frequents Joe's. Calvert wouldn't want me acquiescing to it."

"How did you pay him?" I asked suspiciously. She had said she was in need of funds herself.

"I can get in and get him out." She didn't answer my question so I knew how.

"With what, Mata Hari?"

"Cunning? A weapon or two if things get messy. I've got some written instructions about who's there. Their routines. If you memorize it, you can come with me."

"Emily, for God's sake, he's cop, where's the rest of the police in this? Do you think at all?!" I asked.

"He's already been caught. They're afraid an attempt to liberate would result in his death and it would look like their fault. They tried, more cops got killed. They gave up. He's got a couple friends still working on it. I need to know if you're coming."

Why did always feel like I was going to my death?

I found myself on a train with Emily that evening, heading for the country. I had said goodbye to Mother, saying that we were going back to New York. Mother, unsure of how to handle the presence of Jack Dawson's family, was almost thankful.

We said nothing for most of the trip, uncomfortable to be in one another's presence. We never made eye contact until Emily decided to strike up conversation and we talked calmly and frankly on our way to our suicide mission.

"So it's Jack's fault you are who you are now?" she asked.

"I wouldn't use the word 'fault,' but yes, if it weren't for him I wouldn't be here or half the place I've been. I would never have done the things I've done."

"He was coming home when he died, you said. He would have surprised us. He talked about us?"

I cringed. His family wasn't the main topic of conversation. But that is to say, neither was mine.

"I saw your pictures in his sketchbook. I knew he lost his parents. I knew about you."

"Are you still in love with him?" She looked directly at me for the first time on the whole trip. I looked directly back at her. She was just like Jack sometimes.

"Well, I say this: you can't replace a person. But you can put someone in their place. I don't really know what would hurt you more: to say that I love Jack and not George or to say that love George and not Jack. Neither is quite true and you clearly want me to stay out of either your real family or your created one so I will."

Emily bit her lip without betraying emotion.

"And just like real family I just wish you'd shut up and go away sometimes."

I didn't understand what she was saying for a moment. I repeated her words in my head.

"I haven't forgiven you or anything," she added, "I just want you to know I feel…I—I still care. And I know there are things you've done, things that I've done, things everyone has done…that are unforgivable. Things have happened that are unfixable."

"What will you do about Cal?" I asked.

"Nothing," she shook her head. "I can't handle it. I will forget or go on as if I have. Besides, I might not have to do that much work for it…"

"I don't understand."

"This will probably fail, this attempt, I mean. The three of us will probably die. If not, I'll be concentrating very hard on fixing all of _us_. I won't worry about him so much. He made a mistake and we're all paying for it—you and me especially. He'll be suffering for the rest of life and I can't be deciding whether or not I want that to happen or not."

"Emily," I said. "Don't assume you're going to fail. If anyone threatens your life, fight. We live for each other now."

I took in a deep breath as we pulled into our final destination. There was no going back. We were about to take the plunge.


End file.
